


The Rose of Taured

by briansmayflower



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-09-06 21:50:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briansmayflower/pseuds/briansmayflower
Summary: Less than two short months after losing her husband, Queen Rose of Taured is faced with an impossible choice: marry again to protect their small nation from invasion and her throne from being seized or face the eradication of them both, including herself. Faced with a clock she wasn't even aware was ticking she must make her choice before the time for it and all other things pass.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, darlings! Before we get into the story, I just have a few things to state. One: The countries of Taured, Laxaria, Lisboa, Sacria and any other mentioned eventually are FICTITIOUS. I'm into strange stories and one day when I was browsing, I found the story of the man from Taured. It goes like this: a businessman exits a flight to Japan and all is well until he has to show his passport at customs. The officials were baffled: it came from a country called Taured and when asked to point it out on a map he pointed to the principality of Andorra, bordered by France and Spain and the Pyrenees mountains. Upon discovering it wasn't on the map, nor did the countries he'd gotten other stamps from or the bank his checks were drawn on existed, he understandably freaked out. Unsure what to do with him, Japanese officials put him up in a room from which he vanished without a trace. True or not, there was something about it that stuck with me and when I knew I wanted to write historical fiction without being constrained by time periods, events, wars, and reigning monarchs 'Taured' came to mind!
> 
> This is my first foray into Queen fiction and in historical fiction that I've dared to post, so please be gentle. Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated and you can drop me a line at brianmaysnailpolish.tumblr.com :) NOTE: Jim is in the first chapter but our boys are not until the second one, but they're worth the wait, I promise. Enjoy!

“Your Majesty, may I have a word with you?” Lord Hutton, my most trusted counselor, murmurs to me as we are escorting the court into dinner. I regard him curiously. Whatever it is that he wants, it has to be good - he would never cause me undue distress the darkest of all days such as this. I wait until we are to the great table on the dais overlooking the rest of the black linened tables laden with food spread throughout the Great Hall to reply. “Certainly, your Grace. Please sit” I indicate that he do so to the right of my raised chair in the second most honored position apart from the King that is no more. Lord Hutton flashes me a smile that quickly fades. Oh, no. I know that look: whatever he is going to tell me is bad. Perhaps even worse than having to bury my husband less than two months ago. “I hate to distress you further in such a dark time,” he begins, but I cannot bear the words. If anyone heaps any more pity upon me I will shatter into a thousand brittle, annoyed little pieces. “Oh, out with it, Lord Hutton. You have never spoke falsehoods to me before so I don’t expect you to start now” I tell him. Dread twists my stomach into knots as he regards me sadly. “Your Majesty…” he begins again then stops. “Your Majesty, what?” I demand.

Despite the circumstances I find I will never get tired of the title. I am now Her Majesty Queen Rose II, named for my mother before me, and the undisputed Queen of Taured. No one can take that away from me now no matter how hard they try. Lord Hutton clears his throat slightly to bring me back to the present. “Out with it, man!” I snap. I’ll never be able to eat dinner if he continues like this! He braces himself with a long swig of wine, then sighs. “The Grand Council is aflutter about you being a widow, my lady. They say it has almost been two months and that you have had ample time for mourning. They’re going to advise that you remarry”. All at once I forget myself, banging my goblet of wine down on the table so hard that the musicians stutter in their playing. “Never” I hiss flatly. Lord Hutton grimaces and throws them a hard glance. “I was afraid you would say that” he says. Warily, conversation around us begins to pick back up. Some disperse to eat, to dance, and tuck away portions to keep for themselves later.

With another sigh, he stabs the slice of roast duck on his plate a bit too viciously before putting it to his lips. “Do you have any idea how long I have waited to be Queen of Taured in my own right? Are they foolish enough to honestly think that I would relinquish the power to some man?” I fume. I was born and reared to rule like any other class of the nobility and I would shrink myself no longer! “They do not think that a woman alone can hold the throne after the occurrence with your Mother”- he beings, but I interrupt furiously. “Will no one ever let me forget it?” When I was eight, twelve years ago, my mother took a lover, as those unhappily married are wont to do. But she was not just any lover - she was the Queen of Monrovia, our neighbors to the north. The friendly relationship quickly soured when they were caught together and chose to run off together under cover of darkness. They managed to cross the ocean to the coast of the nation of Lisboa and were honored guests of the emperor...at least until my father and the Monrovian king caught them. They ordered the emperor and his wife to release them both on pain of war, and, unable to bear being imprisoned for their crimes of desertion, jumped from the roof of the great palace and into the churning ocean waves below, igniting a feud between Taured and Monrovia that has burned bright with hatred ever since. “I am not my Mother. I would not make her mistake. Perhaps if Father would’ve kept to himself none of it ever would have happened” I retort. “I was but a lad, but my father was present with the soldiers when yours went to retrieve them. It was not as simple as that. The point is that your mother was undisputed Queen and your Father King Consort. A commoner who had not been reared to take the throne as you have. May I remind you of those disastrous first years of his reign? Of the way you had to hide out and everyone came from all corners of the land to declare himself the son of your father and, therefore, heir?” I shudder at the memory. “That has nothing to do with me” I inform him stubbornly.

“Besides, my Lord Husband was very ill and I still miss him greatly”- He silences me with a pointed look at my dark blue gown and veil embroidered with yellow roses, our national symbol. These masquerade as mourning clothes but they do not fool my closest friend. “I do!” I insist. The passion of bed and board were certainly lost to us; he’d chosen to take them with the other ladies of the court and only came to me when courtesy demanded so the court wouldn’t gossip. Still, I was...fond of him. We’d been betrothed since I was twelve, married when I was fourteen and he was sixteen, and were parted two weeks shy of my twentieth birthday. We’d grown up together. He lays a beringed hand on mine to quiet me. “I know you do. But they say that there are talks of a rebellion, of an alliance with Monrovia and Laxaria to usurp you. And why should they not? We sit between them like the duck and greens and on your little gold plate” he tells me. I flush with anger. “They wouldn’t dare! The King of Laxaria was a great friend to my father and my husband. Monrovia…” “Would not hesitate. They still burn for vengeance and you know it as well as I do” he informs me. I feel like screaming. 

God in Heaven, he is right. Taured is a small nation with an even smaller army and a joke of a navy. Mustering men to fight would be suicide - they’d be slaughtered in the mountains and over the seas and, worse, in my name. I take a swig of sweet wine to cover the trembling of my lips but again, he sees through me. “Jim…” I am informal in my despair. “What am I supposed to do? I do not want to remarry!” Grief chokes my declaration into the whisper. “Well…” he begins unwillingly. “Perhaps you could make him King Consort like your father, but give him power only in name?” He suggests. I shake my head. “Your Majesty, you have to do something. You have”- “I know!” I nearly sob. I have no choice. But when have I ever?

****  
I tell the court that I am too ill to stay for dancing and the dessert course and head to the palace gardens, bidding Lord Hutton to walk with me. The gardens are the one place that I have been able to come to think since I was a child. There is something magic in the rolling green hills dotted with wildflowers, trees groaning with fruit, and in the marble fountains and statues that adorn it. Here, on the stone bench amongst the rose bushes, I can do my best thinking and despairing. “Who do they have in mind? For my husband?” I want to know. “They are suggesting nobility from other nations to secure our bonds: one from Laxaria, one from Sacria, and...one from Monrovia” he finishes uneasily. I leap to my feet. “You all have run mad!” I spit furiously. “I’ll see myself hanged before I ever consider anybody from the cold, dark wasteland to the north. No! Absolutely not!” Jim is unmoved by this flare of my temper. He has seen far worse, but only in private. I would never disgrace myself by having a public fit. “Think of it, Your Grace. Taured needs all of the support she can get. We are most vulnerable from the North and it is beyond time we mended the rift between our nations before its the ruin of us all” he tries to soothe.

“I will not marry someone I do not know” I insist. Then I can’t help it: I give him a long, pointed look and try to make myself see him as lover. My eyes linger on his sweet broad face, his mustache, his small brown eyes that twinkle with mischief and merriment every time we are together. Yet all I can see is the face of a man I trust above all others. I love him but things are never as they appear. Despite him sitting at my right hand, whispering in my ear, and laughing with me, we are not lovers and never will be. His betrothed, Sir William Compton, would have my head if he knew I even thought of it. His cheeks burn as scarlet as the sun sinking below the horizon before us. “Aye, your Majesty, you know how much I wish that I was able but I cannot”. He does not fancy women the way that I fancy both women and men. His is a singular attraction of the male persuasion and to force him would be wrong.  
I place a beringed hand on his shoulder. “Peace, James” - I use his full name so he knows I am serious - “I would never take away your will”.

We stand in companionable silence and watch the sun slip below the horizon. The sky is streaked with colors of the roses around us - pale pink, brilliant purple, and the rich red my Mother used to love. “I wish to be honest with you” Jim suddenly says. “Speak freely” I encourage. He turns to meet my eye. “I...have sent for them all ready. They should arrive in a sennight. I wanted it to look as if you were one step ahead of the council so they would not try to go behind your back again. Say you forgive me, Rose. Please” he pleads. Hurt renders me immobile. How could he do the very thing he’d just accused them of doing to me of all people? To his sovereign, his Queen, his best friend, to his Rose, as he sometimes called me? I want to grab him by the collar if his doublet and toss him into the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Somehow, I repress the urge even though I rise to my feet. “Very well. You are forgiven” I murmur through stiff, unmoving lips. I will never forgive him for this as long as he lives!

Something suddenly occur to me. “I cannot send them back empty handed. They will have to have something - gold for their trouble or a position of honor at court?” I suggest shrewdly. He bows his head in shame. “If it pleases you, my lady” he says to the ground. He cannot bear to look at me. Good. “None of this pleases me, but that has never stopped any of you before!”

***  
Back in my chambers I strip off my gown and silly high heeled shoes after dismissing my ladies and servants, then settle on the bed for a good cry as if I were ten instead of twenty. I know that Jim is trying to help and means no harm but it still grieves me that he would make such a huge decision behind my back. His father before him had been close with mine, much like we were now, and I had toddled after him ever since I was able. He was older and I was admittedly a nuisance but still, he’d protected me...and is still doing so. The sight of his face crumpling in the gardens haunts me. Maybe I should go to him or send him a note telling him that I forgive him.

A knock sounds at the door, startling me. “Enter!” I nearly bark. In shuffles a messenger carrying a mahogany box with a creamy piece of paper on top of it. “Your Majesty”. He bows and I gesture for him to set it on the table before the great bed, tip him a gold coin, and he backs out as quickly as he came. Of course, the note is from Lord Hutton.

My dearest Majesty, he writes.

I could not bear the thought of you being upset with me so I have sent you what I planned on surprising you with after we broke our fasts tomorrow. I am sorry to say that the murmurings about marriage and your choosing of suitors has been going on from the moment your husband passed from this world. I tried to keep it from you only to protect you and I felt that the guilt would eat a hole through my soul. Forgive me. I cannot stand it if you do not and neither will the scandal hungry court. After all, we are supposed to be lovers, and this is a source of great amusement to us and to the court. Enclosed in this box are gifts from each suitor I’ve had our ambassador gather after visiting them.

Enraged a the thought of this going on for so long, I surge forward and toss the letter into the fireplace. How are they conspire against me? My eyes light on the box and curiosity automatically smothers my ire. Inside the box the gifts are wrapped carefully in black velvet. Warily, I peel it back, and four pieces of jewelry wink up at me: an elaborate diamond collar, a bracelet with emeralds the color of the hills outside of my leaded windows, sapphire earrings almost the exact shade of my eyes, and lastly, a ring with a ruby so big that it takes my breath away. In spite of bearers of the gifts I love them. Quietly, I slip the ruby ring onto my finger, clasp the bracelet about my wrist.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, your Grace” I practice aloud in a whisper. Then, hugging the gifts to my heart, I add: “My love”. The sound of it passing my lips makes me color up like stained glass in a chapel. How silly! I cannot accept such elaborate things. I move to put them back in the box but stop. If I call this off, if I order the suitors to turn around as soon as they land on Taurean soil, it will ignite dissent in both their home countries and in this one. There are many people that whisper about me because of my poor Mother as it i - this could be enough fuel on the tinder I am now aware we’re teetering on to start a fire. I try to imagine no longer being Queen of Taured. They would exile me...or worse, execute me so that I would not raise a rebellion of my own. Death would not stop with me, either. It would reach out and take Jim, Sir William, and all of other trusted counselors and friends. Did I want their deaths on my hands? No. No, I would not be able to bear it, especially if Jim were to be killed because of me.

This decision had been made from the moment he’d told me of it: I would marry for my own safety and the safety of the realm or face the end of both.


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! It took me forever to get the hang of this thing as I haven't written fanfiction that I dared to post since 2012-2013, so go easy on me. Also excuse my formatting or lack thereof, there's such a sheer number of words that I feel as if I spaced this the way that all the others were it would take a month of Sundays to finish reading. If anyone has a way around this little dilemma let me know, but you'd better be nice to me! LOL. On with the story! Reviews (comments?) are greatly appreciated :)

II.

“Again” Jim insists. I groan. There are books, letters, and artwork depicting the customs of Monrovia, Laxaria, Sacria, and Lisboa spread out before us on the desk in the Great Library and we have been going over them for hours upon hours. “We have looked at these thousands of times in the past two days! Nights, too! Do you not think I know it by now?” I grumble. He reaches over me and plucks a list of Sacrian greetings and etiquettes from the pile. “Table manners” he prompts as if I haven’t spoken. This is one of the reasons why I love him so: he never takes my temper seriously when I’m sour about something that could potentially benefit myself and the Taurean people. Glowering at him, I begin reluctantly: “There is one servant per guest at dinner, broths must be slurped unless you intend to offend your host, raw things are frowned upon because even if they’re unwashed they’re considered unhealthy, and one must bring a silver piece to tip the servant assigned to them”.

Jim grimaces. “What?” I demand. I am right! Aren’t I? I grasp nervously for my copy of the list but fail to find it. “You are right apart from one thing: it is the Laxarians that do not consume uncooked foods, which is a shame if you ask me. Sacrians, as do I, enjoy a good salad” he says. I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Salad is that horrible ground leaf that we give to the rabbits that you and Sir William insist upon eating by itself, isn’t it?” A surprised laugh bursts through his lips. “Yes, and we’ll have to serve it at the welcoming feast so you may as well get used to it. We’ll have to try all of their delicacies” he reminds me. The thought of having to ingest the wretched white vegetable called cauliflower that they are fond of in Lisboa makes my stomach turn. “Don’t remind me. Monrovian Marriage customs” I fire at him. He raises his eyebrows. “You tell me” he orders. “You have to know this too!” I object. I do not want to think of the possibility that I may have to marry the descendants of a King who helped drive my Mother to her death.

“Nice try. My betrothed hails from Taured. Go on, already, I have to change for dinner” he taps impatiently on the open book before me, but I am momentarily distracted at the mention of Sir William. “And when were you intending to make an honest man out of him?” I want to know. He’d gotten my permission to marry - though I had assured him he didn’t need it - almost two years ago. Certainly, it will be better for the both of us and smother the rumor that we are lovers if he weds as soon as possible, yet I cannot bring myself to insist that he do so. Jim shifts uncomfortably. “This is not about me” he hedges. “I am the Queen and I say it is”. Jim glares at me. “William is…” he trails off, uncertain on how to begin. Somehow I know what he is about to tell me: of William’s many flirtations and the rumors of his infidelity that follow him like mist wherever he goes.

“I believe that he shames me” he admits, unable to look at me. I tilt his chin up. “There’s nothing for you down there, Lord Hutton, nor are you his keeper” I inform him sternly. His cheeks flame with color. “So you have heard the rumors? Oh God. Has everyone?” His head drops into his hands. “My ladies flutter like hens and gossip as if they’re twice their ages but I pay it no mind” I lie. How can I not pay it any mind when he is constantly flitting between them to bestow notes and poems that he claims are innocent yet they are reluctant to discuss in front of me?

Jim remains motionless. “I have heard that he likes to compose them ballads and write them poetry but I have never seen any adultery. And…” He suddenly sits up. “And we do the same! We are always together and have been seen clasping one another’s hands, any fool would think it! We are shut up here in the library with a guard stationed outside of the closed doors! I know it! I suspect that is why he does it. I would not be shocked to find him gallivanting with some Lady or Gentlemen of the evening when we go in for dinner. I could kill him” He rages. Guiltily, I think of the guard posted outside of the doors so that no one will come in and think me an idiot for not being more well versed in the customs of our neighbors. “I could help” I manage to offer. It works - he laughs. “Perhaps we should not”- I begin to suggest what I have since he was promised to Sir William, that I take a step back from him. “No”, he interrupts fiercely. “You are my best friend and that’s how it will remain”. Unless of course my future betrothed takes a dislike to it and threatens to spread a rumor that I have a lover, rendering me untouchable.

We both are aware that we may only have a little time left to be ourselves with one another but cannot bear to speak the fact. I pick up the heavy book. “The veil of betrothal”, I begin. “Once promised, the betrothed is required to wear a veil over her face in public and over her hair in front of familiar company until the day of her wedding when her husband removes it. There is a ceremonial bedding in the great hall before...Oh, no!” Embarrassment overcomes me and I drop it as if it’s on fire.. Jim isn’t so distressed that he doesn’t find me amusing. “Go on” he urges, visibly suppressing a laugh. “Before the public bedding! Look at this!” I stab a finger at the line of text. “The actual bedding is public!? They close the bed curtains and the Ladies and Gentlemen of the bedchamber stand by to remove the sheets to present as evidence that coupling occurred apart from their testimonies!?” He presses his lips into a thin line to prevent laughter. “Well, it does get pretty frigid there. Perhaps everyone huddles together to keep warm” he suggests. Even I have to snicker at that. “Oh, rise up, Lord of the Jokes. We must change like you said” I command. After all, this could be the last night that I am truly free.

****  
I go all out with my attire: a cream colored gown with startlingly yellow brocade and underskirts embroidered with red roses, for passion, so my people know that I love them as they watch the court dine. The sleeves are edged in a lighter yellow lace as are the tiered layers of my skirts and in place of a mourning veil (how odd that they use them for weddings in Monrovia!) I wear a crown of citrine to establish my place as their Queen. I gaze quickly in the looking glass before stepping into my presence chamber so the guards know I am ready to go. My skin is golden brown and unblemished, my hair long, dark and lustrous as it cascades down my back, and my eyes are black fire. To anyone else this is a fanciful look but I see it for what it is: armor. Tonight I am going into battle by confronting the Grand Council and informing them in on uncertain terms that I am displeased that they did not come to me. I have written letters but it is not enough: I want all the people to know that I will not be forced to bend to the orders of others. I have conditions on the purported marriages and I am determined to have them heard.

Such plans are cancelled when Nan, my chief lady in waiting, comes bursting into my bedchamber unannounced. “Ships!” She pants, doubling over to catch her breath. Panic spams through me. I bolt over to pull her upright. “How many!?” She’s too busy panting to answer and I cannot afford to wait for a response. I sprint from the chambers, through the hall, and up two sets of steep stairs until I reach the door to the roof. If the end of Taured is coming I want to face it head on. With a sinking feeling, I realize that if this is the attack the I fear that it can only be from Lisboa, and they have a fearsome navy because they are an island nation. Laxaria and Monrovia would march on us if they wanted to move against us.

I feel a strange frisson of relief as I burst onto the roof and into the crowd and it is absent of weeping. There are indeed ships approaching but thankfully, there are only three and they are not armed. Green and gold and standards depicting the sun sinking into the ocean snap against the cool salty breeze. I also know that they are a full day early to my court. And I am not ready in the slightest. Sir William and Jim are standing with their arms about one another, gazing out into the distance, but as soon as my eyes light on them Jim turns around. I shake my head slightly but he disentagles himself anyway. Sir William grabs his hand to halt him, throwing me a look as sharp as he dares. Before I can respond I am accosted by Sir Mel Hannaford, my Master of horse. He bows deeply to convey his respects. “I am going to ride out” I announce before he can ask if he is allowed. “Your Grace, I must advise against this”- “Madness!” Interrupts Lord Cecil Stafford. He is at the head of the traitorous Grand Council who I plan on having a word with. “When I would like your opinion, Lord Stafford, I will request it of you in this and all things. You would be wise to remember who it was that bestowed your title upon you. Sir Hannaford?” I don’t even bother waiting for his answer.

The elderly Master of Horse takes the arm I extend and leads me down the stone steps to the stables. “I should not have said that” I admit when we are out of earshot of the rest of the court. “My Lady, it does this old heart good to see that butcher’s son taken down a few pegs. I hear he is insufferable in council meetings” he tells me. Anger floods me all over again. “He should not have gone behind my back. None of them should’ve” I say through my teeth. At the sound of my tone, Luna, my magnificent white horse, takes an uneasy step further back inside of her little gate. Mel gently pushes me aside to soothe her. “Aye, but it is already done. Their Prince will land at any moment now”. This is the closest that he can come to telling me to keep a stiff upper lip. I know, I want to tell him, I wish that I could get over it too.

Heedless of my elaborate gown, I mount the little wooden stairs he has erected and sit atop my horse. I grasp the reigns to take off but his age spotted hand flashes out to hold mine. “Not alone, your Majesty” he states firmly. “Wait for me”. He disappears back into the stables. Heavy footfalls thump towards me and suddenly Jim, Sir William, and a retinue of men round the corner to accost me. “Were you trying to stop our hearts?” He demands furiously. William is sullen and silent by his side as the men scatter to fetch horses for them. “We can argue when we get back!” I nearly yell. Someone has to greet them or it is indescribably rude. Not only that but we are not one hundred percent sure that these men are friendly. We gallop so wildly through the green hills that I have to use one hand to keep my crown on my head.

George would never let me take rides without a litter due to the roughness of the roads and potential for bandits, but we see none as we streak through the dusky evening. By the time we reach the great dock they have already landed. William lets out a low whistle as we approach their vessels. “Marvelous” he remarks to no one in particular. He has always had an affinity for boats. “I shall buy you one like it” Jim promises. William clasps his hand. There is a man dressed unlike any other that I have seen before on the deck of the ship gazing imperiously down at us. The first thing that strikes me apart from the great feathered plume in his hat is that everything he is bedecked in is purple. His doublet, his hose, his hat, and if I did not know any better I would say that he used paint to stain his very fingernails purple. How odd! And he is pretty - beautiful as a woman with his nearly shoulder length dark hair, cut glass jawline, and animated dark eyes. His full lips part in a smile at our attention. “God’s blood!” Someone whispers. His teeth are quite large, but it only serves to make him more charming.

He taps one of the deckhands on the shoulder and gestures towards us. “Today, dear” he orders, but his voice makes the words like music. Men scramble to his side and the great plank is let down so that he can disembark. Lisboan heralds blow a great fanfare on their silver trumpets as he glides regally towards us. “His Grace Lord Bulsara of Lisboa!” Declares the one in front. I feel a little shock: they could not even send me a Prince? He clears his throat pointedly; everyone else seems to shoot him a dirty look. Jim quickly walks ahead of me to present me to him. “Her Majesty Queen Rose of Taured!” He booms. I am impressed - perhaps I should make him a herald of mine. Without warning, the elaborately dressed Lord surges forward and plants a kiss on Jim’s cheek. He reels backward,shocked, and a delicate pink flush colors his cheekbones.

“You forget yourself!” He manages. “That is a custom greeting in my country” He announces, affronted, but something about the wicked gleam in his eye tells me that this may not be the entire truth. I do not recall reading about that. I step between them and curtsey to him. “Lord Bulsara, I would like to formally welcome you to Taured. I apologize for not being better dressed. You all took us by surprise” I tell him. My once beautiful gown is now pale with dust and the hem is mud spattered. Nan will all but fall over dead when she sees it. He leans forward to kiss my cheek as well but he seems distracted somehow. “Lord Mercury”, he corrects. I am taken aback. “Like what the apothecaries prescribe?” He gives a great laugh. “Oh no, dear, like the planet in the heavens. It has a certain ring to it”. I had been told that Lisboans were a bit eccentric but he still mystifies me. His dark eyes light on Jim once more.

“You never introduced me to your herald” He hints. I take a step back and gesture grandly to Jim. “This is Lord Hutton”. “And I am not a herald” he randomly supplies. “You can call me Freddie” he seems to decide on the spot. We exchange a shocked look at the informality. “Shall we all not be friends? I shall be Freddie, you”- he gestures to me- “Shall be Her Majesty in public but Rose when we are alone and you…?” There he goes again, gazing at Jim like...like...like he would devour him. And Jim is looking back, flushed, but definitely intrigued. It hits me like a bolt of lightning. Freddie is flirting with him right in front of me! A pale slender hand thrusts itself between them. “William. Sir William Compton” His betrothed, all but forgotten now, announces. This time when he bestows a kiss upon someone, it's on the hand. “Will you join us for dinner?” I ask, though of course he will. Where else would he go? All of the suitors are due to stay in the palace or houses near it. “Of course, but I have one question”. We all gaze curiously at him. He waves a man over who is holding an orange and white cat aloft on a cushion. I gaze at them in horror. Surely he doesn’t mean for us to eat it! I myself have quite a few stable cats I am fond of so I cannot imagine doing such a barbaric thing.  
“How many cats d’you think you can accommodate? I’ve got quite a few!” He informs us. Behind him, three more servants disembark with obviously well fed cats in their arms. Something tells me he will not take too kindly to putting them in stables with the others. I force a smile. “We will find a way to accomodate you” I promise.  
***  
I send a few men back to the palace ahead of us so that there are extra places set for our honored guests and his entourage, so by the time we are back and I have washed and changed in a gown like my ruined yellow one but only in pink, everything is as it should be. Almost everything. I cannot get the way that Lord Mercury gazed at Jim out of my mind. I am not jealous but I do find it a bit strange that Lisboa would send us a nobleman who did not seem to be into the fairer sex to our shores. Do they mean to insult us by sending someone who could not devote themselves to me so they run no risk of him getting a child on me and diluting their bloodline with Taurean blood? Lisboa had never shown Taured any enmity before - in fact, they mostly choose to stay out of disputes unless directly provoked or attacked. And why would Lord Mercury come a full day before he was scheduled to? Perhaps to get a head start on the others? I am so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I can hardly pay attention to the masque they are putting on until the applause starts and they call for a brief break to serve the second course of our meal.  
“Are you not enjoying the, er…what do you call them here” Lord Mercury begins, struggling to think of the Taurean word. “Masque” I supply helpfully with a smile. I like a person who will admit they do not know things without worry though in a way I envy them. “What a curious word. Back home we call them plays because that what they are - silly people at play! Do you speak Lisboan?” He switches to his native tongue at the end and I feel a frisson of apprehension. “A bit” I reply so stiffly that he bursts into laughter. Speaking the language in front of native speakers makes me feel like a lamb about to the slaughtered. Mercifully, he switches back to Taurean. “I never got a chance to thank you for being so welcoming. This is all very grand for just me” he says. Somehow I feel bad for disappointing him though I am sure he knows. “Tomorrow the other suitors are coming. There will be masques and great feasts like this one as well” I inform him. “Oh, I know, but you will not like them as you like me, your Majesty. They do not know your taste as I do” he gestured grandly to the collar of diamonds sparkling at my throat. I’d put them on before coming down to feast and revel because I’d figured something so extravagant could only be his doing and it had turned out that I was right. I touch them self consciously.  
“You flatter me”. Moments ago I was sure that he did not see anyone but Lord Hutton and now he is making me blush.  
“Lisboans are excellent courtiers, darling. I would say the same about Taureans, however…” he holds up his chalice of sweet wine, a beloved favorite of the court. “Whyever do you drink this over sweetened swill?” I bark a laugh. “Forgetting yourself again, I see” Someone remarks. We all look up as Jim’s chair scrapes stridently against the wooden floor and he takes a seat to my left, subtly sandwiching me between them. “There you are! I was wondering where you’d gone off to!” I am delighted to see him sans William and any other hangers on that are thankfully seated at the third table from us. “I forget myself yet I remember you” Freddie comments archly. “You also remember to insult our cuisine” Jim says in response. His voice is lighter than I’ve ever heard it before apart from when he was speaking to William or myself. Almost teasing.  
“I’ve yet to taste yours” he remarks mischievously. My eyes widen at the impropriety. “Well, then, here” Jim pushes his plate of gold towards the flamboyant Lisboan. His scrunches up his nose at the mixture of greens, meats, and fruits sprinkled with red wine and vinegar, of course, sprinkled with sugar. Taureans love sweet things. “Dreadful” he remarks under his breath. I know enough of his language for that one; I suppress a snicker. Louder, he asks: “How on Earth do you eat this...thing?” “My sentiments exactly” I mutter. Jim chuckles and produces a gold fork to match the plate. “With this”. He thrusts at him theatrically, eliciting another laugh from Freddie.  
“You all use those things here? What on earth is wrong with your hands? No, don’t tell me. Let me see!” He clasps Jim’s hand and holds it up to examine it. Jim wiggles his fingers to prove they’re still functional.  
We three are so busy giggling amongst ourselves that we do not notice the woman until she clears her throat. “Lord Mercury”, she begins meekly. Everyone has quickly latched onto his quirky nickname. “There is a ballad about Hercules’ heroism in the second act and our singer has fallen ill with drink. Do you mind singing?” “In a masque that is meant to entertain him, Anne? Surely not”- “I’ll do it!” He interrupts cheerfully.  
His bound into the small circle of players is eager - perhaps, he too, is a silly person at play at heart. And when he struts into the center of the great room and parts his lips to sing, the emerging sound makes the entire room fall into silence. He has the voice of a thousand lovebirds, of an oncoming thunderstorm, of quakes capable of tearing the entire continent asunder. Applause explodes like gunpowder when he finishes. I marvel at the sight of smiles of gasps of wonder as they call for an encore. Less than 24 hours and he has us all in the palm of his hand. Until he’d began to sing, I hadn’t even realized that the masque was about, hadn’t realized that a masque could be so entertaining though I’d see it numerous times because it was a favorite of George, the late King’s. Everything takes on a bright, glittery sheen with Lord Mercury around. Yet I cannot dare to hope that the others are court ornaments of the same caliber. Only time will tell.


	3. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I've been feeling super inspired lately and have managed to finish chapter 3 in record time, so here you are. Again, forgive my terrible formatting, I am ancient and garbage at it, so be nice to me or you gon get these hands. LOL. Thanks for taking the time to read! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. If you'd like, drop me a line in askbox on tumblr (brianmaysnailpolish) but keep it cute or...you know. We both are going to visit the sun. Happy reading!  
> P.S - if you'd like to see visuals I can link/post them! Just let me know!

III.

Dizzy with slightly too much wine and good company, I stagger to bed around half past two in the morrow and collapse into the great royal bed as if I’d never beheld it before. I have just drawn the velvet bed curtains around me and shut my eyes when I hear the door to my chamber bang open unceremoniously. I poke my head out of the bed curtains. “Who goes there?” I snap. Hoping to frighten off the intruder. It is probably some drunkard who managed to sweet talk their way past the guards right into the wrong chamber but they have no idea just how wrong they’re going to be if they take a step closer - there is a small dagger I keep under my pillows in case of intruders. Then I glimpse their face in the light from the fireplace - their broad, sweet, flushed face. “Jim!” I exclaim. “What the devil are you doing here, man? I almost called for the guards!”  
Instead of responding her staggers his way over to me, through the hangings, and unceremoniously flings himself back against the goose down pillows. The cloying scent of alcohol immediately assaults my nostrils.

Oblivious to my displeasure, he holds up a pack of cards and slurs: “Play with me, woman. Play with me and be merry, for someone in this chamber has to be”. I recoil from him. “You’re drunk!” I accuse. It smells as if he’s pickled himself in wine. “Aye. Drunk and sour with it”, he confirms. “I need a companion. Be sweet to me, Rose”. “Not when you’re like this! If you need a companion, go and find Sir William. I am sure he will be sweeter to you than I can ever hope to be”. I regret it at once. His dear, dear face crumples up like a vellum document being discarded. “He abhors me!” Jim nearly wails. Perhaps ‘pickled himself in wine’ was too light a sentiment for his state!   
I pat him soothingly on the back. “There, there, James, I’m sure that is not true. Will loves you. You are to be his husband, remember that. This quarrel will pass”. His dark eyes fill with tears. “No. No, it won’t. He’s tossed me from our lodgings saying that I shall find better ones with you or with…” His words are choked off with embarrassment. “With Lord Mercury” I finish for him. He drops his head into his hands and groans. “Am I not allowed to be friendly!?” He demands.  
I cannot manage an answer. For if I were to see my own betrothed hands clasped and merry with with another - with two others - I perceived as threats I would behave like a butcher’s son as well.  
“I will live a dog’s life with him if does not curb this jealousy” he sighs. That I can agree on.”I will talk to him tomorrow during our festivities, I promise you, and I will see you married as soon as possible” I promise. The prospect relaxes him so much that he falls asleep at once, snoring so loudly that I fear he’ll strip the tapestries from the walls. With a sigh of my own, I burrow under the covers, taking care to go to the far side of the bed, and close my eyes.  
******  
“Your Majesty!” I am awoken by Nan roughly shaking my shoulder. I bolt upright. “What? What?” I demand sleepily. Jim snored so loud throughout the night that I did not find peace until he crept out just before dawn. The moment I see her face I am aware that she knows. “Nan…” I begin, but she holds up a work grizzled hand to stop me. “I know, nothing happened. But hear me, your Majesty, it is improper, especially now. We cannot have your name blemished more than it is” she reminds me, then shoves the other velvet curtain aside to let the sunlight in. I cringe away. I do not know why everyone insists upon punishing me for the mistakes of my mother and I tell her so. “Because impropriety is a curse on a household. You would do well to remember that. Now come on, it is nearly time to ride out”. She fishes through the great wardrobe chest until she finds the gown I’ve chosen for today: sheer blue like the ocean and embroidered with silk flowers. I am silent through the entire ordeal of the lacing of my corset, stepping into the crinoline cage, and the fastening of opaque petticoats to go beneath the great skirt, but I cannot help but groan when Nan presents a blue mourning veil.

“Oh, Nan! No!” I whine as if I am twelve instead of twenty. She takes a menacing step towards me and brandishes it. “I’ve spent many years chasing you around the nursery so one more morning will make no difference. It is ceremony for you to cast it aside in front of the suitors” she growls. Sea green flames burn in the depths of her eyes as she challenges me, making me quail. “Very well. Get on with it” I huff.  
“You act as if I’m soldering it to your head, child. You’ll be without it soon enough. Now, stand back and let me look at you”. I obey. She is the closest thing in this world that I have to a mother and she has known me just as long. It was her who I ran to when I’d first heard the news of my Mother’s sudden departure and she’s held me close ever since. “Well? Am I presentable now?” I check. She beams. “You are perfect”.

All is silent as we make our way through the great hall and outside to the stables. In order to ensure that my dress remain unsullied I must ride in the white, yellow, and gold trimmed carriage of State but I am not alone. Jim and, to my surprise, Sir William await me on the other side of it when he footmen open the door and lift me up. Nan slides in beside me and motions for the door to be shut, then we’re off over the rocky roads. I cannot look anywhere but the silk hewn flowers sewn into my skirt. It feels as if they are escorting me to the block as a opposed to a great festival.   
Nan gives my hand an assuring squeeze. “Do not fret, your Grace. Everything will go as planned. We all have seen to that”. My mind spirals out over the scheduled events: the meeting at the elaborate city of tents nestled in Taured’s most beautiful valley, the great feasting, the fountains flowing with red and white wine, the masques, the choirs, and the games. I have ordered all of Taured’s finest things to be utilized for this great event and have even overseen preparations myself. “And the translators?” I suddenly fret. Williams gives a short, unfriendly laugh. “I do not doubt that every man will be at your behest” he comments.  
“Oh?” There is an undercurrent of danger in my tone yet he still blazes on. “You are aware of the many men that you charm, your majesty? Lord Mercury, myself, Sir Hannaford...Jim” he spits the last name pointedly. “Will! You forget yourself!” Nan snaps before I can. “How can I not when she”- he stabs a finger at me - “Brazenly stakes a claim on what is mine!?” “Enough, William! Enough of your jealousies and accusations!” Jim shouts. The sound is deafening in our small confines, shocking me into silence. Jim is hardly ever foul tempered with anyone.

“Accusations? I know where you slept last night, James Hutton, so do not take me for a fool, it is worse than shaming me!” “Sir William, you speak out of turn. Lord Hutton came to me last night, sick with drink and love about wanting to marry you. I agreed to host the ceremony and grant you lands in both of your names as soon as possible. I did not then nor do I know harbor any intentions to shame you” I promise. The younger blonde whips to face his beloved. “This is true?” He demands severely.   
Jim clasps his hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss it. “Yes, my darling. I did not want to overshadow the ceremonies today but her Majesty did not give me a choice” he says. Translation: why in the name of every sacred thing would you do this to me before I am ready? But it has been far too long and Nan is right. I cannot be thought of as immoral in the eyes of the monarchs of the other strict nations. 

I tune out the happy couple’s cooing and Nan’s chiding through the village and all the way to the quayside. Anxiety makes my heart hammer: there are three new vessels docked there bearing familiar standards. Monrovia’s gold flag, bearing the sun setting behind a great oak tree, Laxaria’s standard bearing a pomegranate - an indirect boast about their fertile Queen and lands - and lastly Sacria’s bearing a bow and arrow crossed with one another to showcase their penchant for archery. Monrovia and Laxaria must have decided to sail around to us after all for show when they could’ve ridden through the mountains. This slightly cheers me because they mean to impress me but it is also terrifying. They mean to showcase that an invasion could come from either way. I pale considerably.   
Jim reaches out to take my hand with his free one. “All is well, Your Majesty. I will present you again. All you have to do is sit upon the dais for the first part” he says. Even William reaches over to give me a reassuring squeeze. I take a deep breathe and square my shoulders as we come to a stop. “Very well”, I say. “Let’s get on with it” ****

The turn out is enormous - it seems as if the entire village has come to our Great Festival, as they call it, just to see who their future king will be. I am seated in the largest tent made of cloth of gold and under a grand canopy of state as I await them. I feel as if my heart will tear right through my chest and drop onto my lap. “Gracious Majesty!” A familiar voice booms. Jim appears in within the flaps of the tent. I am out of time to back out or to pick up my skirts and run. My eyes light on the man next to him, a slight man with piercing blue eyes and hair that gleams golden even in the diffuse light of the tent. He catches me scrutinizing him and his lips upcurve into a flirtatious smile. “May I present to you his most gracious Highness: Prince Meddows of Laxaria!”Calls Jim. There is a brief fanfare as they walk down the rose petal strewn aisle to reach me. The Prince steps forward, sweeps off the blue riding hat that matches his eyes, and bows low before me. “Your Majesty, it is an honor to be in your presence” His accent is startling, brittle and sharp as broken glass. 

“Rise up” I command in Laxarian. Boldly, he approaches the dais, clasps my hand, and kneels before me.  
“I see you are wearing my gift”- he breaks off to run a finger over the shimmering emerald bracelet and then presses a kiss into my hand- “It suits you”. My cheeks flame at the softness of his lips and his forwardness. He tugs at my hand to pull me to my feet so that I am standing with him. Every royal guard in my retinue simultaneously uncrosses their pikes then steps forward. “Peace!” I say quickly. “His Grace was just happy that I liked his gift. All is well!” He pales and releases my hand at once. I fail to suppress a laugh as he helps me back onto the ornately carved throne. “Are they always so protective?” He stage whispers in Laxarian. The majority of Taurean people are educated and know at least one more language but are studiously pretending they cannot hear us.   
“They must be, Your Grace. Anything could happen to an unprotected Queen”. Like an invasion from your blasted parents, I think but wisely do not say. He smirks as if he can read my mind. “Then I shall have to be careful presenting you with a second gift” he suddenly announces. At the sound of his snap men in Laxarian livery bring forth a great mahogany chest and set it before the dais. “Gowns in the Laxarian style” he proclaims, opening the lid so I can peer inside. 

At the top lies a beautiful gown with a periwinkle kirtle and gold underskirt. Emeralds and seed pearls are delicately embroidered about the neckline, along with the edges of the great sleeves. Considerately, he’s had it sprinkled with lilac petals and rose water to keep the moths away. “Beautiful…” I breathe in spite of myself. “D’you think you will wear it to our wedding then? I should hope to be a good husband to you” he murmurs shyly. Across the tent, Jim nods at me to signal that his Grace has exceeded the customary two minute greeting. “I should hope to learn your name first as opposed to your title” I counter. He springs up to his full height and clasps my hand again. “It is Roger, your Majesty, and I am your humble servant from this day forth”. He seals his proclamation with another kiss. “Thank you, your Grace” It is a dismissal and gratitude all in one. Thankfully, he orders the box taken back up and melts into the buzzing crowd.   
I motion for Jim to send in the next one. “Presenting his Majesty, King John II of Sacria!” He announces. I feel a thrill of shock when it is the son and not the father who strides in at the sound of the herald. When had John I perished and why did we not receive an invitation to the burial? I feel a childish sense of hurt. I’d have at least sent a gift!   
The man who approaches me also has long hair the color of caramel and brown eyes so sweet they make me taste sweets as I gaze upon him. He is clothed in black, still in mourning for his Father, but there is a cloth of gold cloak encrusted with jewels about his shoulders. Surprisingly, he wears no crown or circlet about his head to mark his status. “Your Majesty, I am sorry for your loss. It is an honor beyond words to have you here” I say, rising to curtesy in reverence. He bows to me as well. 

“As I am sorry for yours, my Lady. I hope to be of some comfort. May I?” This time he asks before he mounts the steps to approach me. Upon reaching me he reaches into his cloak and plucks something out. “A yellow rose!” I exclaim in delight. Oh, how I love it! Yellow roses are our national symbol and coincidentally, my favorite flower. Every coat of arms and elaborate tapestry surrounding us bears them. He gestured to the corner of my veil. “If I may?” He checks again. I nod and he tucks it into the headdress so that it blooms at my temple, a promise of new life. Flabbergasted murmurs explode amongst us but I pay them no mind.   
“Thank you, your Majesty. I shall treasure it for all my days”. “I figured that you would like it. And the earrings” he says. It makes me like him even more: a husband that is a man of a few words and likes simple things as I do would be an ideal match. I beam at him. “Go and enjoy yourself, please, your Majesty”. It is odd to dismiss a King but he acquiesces happily.   
Before Jim can make the announcement a stocky man in blazing red attire saunters regally down the aisle. The heralds do not even attempt to match his pace. Lord Mercury bows low to me, grinning impishly when he rises. “Your Majesty, all of Lisboa pales in comparison to your beauty. I am but a star circling a luminous moon in your presence” he says. Towards the back of the tent, a tall man with a shock of dark curls grimaces at his choice of words. “You flatter me, Lord Mercury. I thank you” I manage. “I, too, have a gift for you” - he breaks off to call over his shoulder - “Bring her in!” 

Sure enough, a servant clad in Lisboan green sucurries to his master clutching a small ivory box. I have to fight a gasp once I see clearly - the lid is encrusted with precious stones and pearls. This must have cost him a fortune! Lord Mercury eases it open to reveal the most magnificent pair of diamond earrings I have ever laid eyes on. “Lord Mercury!” I choke. They are massive and teardrop shaped, cut just right so that they sparkle like the sun even in the muted light. “Do you love them?” He demands excitedly, forgetting for a moment to be formal. His dark eyes dance with amusement as he watches me try hard not to visibly fawn over them. “Almost above all else!” I assure him in Lisboan. He beams radiantly. “They match the collar. Perhaps I should commission bracelets for the wedding” he teases. “Perhaps” I assure him. Knowing that his two minutes are up, he closes the box, bows, and melts back into a crowd that surges around him at once.   
Jim catches my eye once more. 

“Last one, I promise” he mouths silently. Aloud, he bellows: “Presenting his Grace, Lord May of Monrovia!” My heart drops at the sound of the cursed name. Even further so when the man who grimaced at his predecessor begins to make his way towards me. I am determined to keep things brief...but then I really see him. He is easily the tallest man in the room, slender, well dressed, and has a shock of dark curls so great he cannot hope to hide them beneath a riding hat. His eyes are a shade unlike which I have ever seen before. Blue? Green? Brown? No, I cannot place it or think of the name. He is...beautiful, I realize with a shock. As beautiful as a maid in springtime.   
He too approaches the dais without permission. “Gracious and fair Queen Rose”, he begins with a deep bow. “Your majesty, you are as lovely and delicate as the flower with whom you share a name. May I?” He nods to my right hand, the third finger of which the ruby ring that is obviously his gift to me rests. Wordlessly, I extend it for him to kiss. When his lips meet my skin it sends a shameful jolt shivering up my arm and all the way down to my toes. 

“I chose a ruby because you are a virtuous woman. D’you like it?” He asks. His tone screams double meaning. He sent me a ruby in hopes that I would be a virtuous woman unlike my mother. I grit my teeth at the implied slight. “It is beautiful. Much like I hope that the relations between our two nations will be” I reply, but even I notice how it sounds like I wish it to be anything but. Infuriatingly, he presses his lips together to avoid a smirk. “Have you something to present me?” I want to know. God’s blood, I want this to be over!   
“Of course. Forgive me. I have composed an air for you”. An air? My brow furrows at the odd Monrovian term. What is the Taurean equivalent? 

“It means a song, your Grace”. Is it me or does he sound amused at my lack of Monrovian vocabulary? I have had no cause nor reason to learn it recently.   
My voice is like splintering ice when I respond. “My mistake. Later, perhaps”. “Later indeed” Lord May retorts. And then - oh, the pompous Monrovian scoundrel! - he gives me a short bow, dares to turn his back to me, and strides outside of the tent. I am infuriated. He dares to turn his back on his sovereign!? That is the ultimate sign of disrespect, along with them sending me some lowly Lord who most likely only has a few manors for me to inherit. They all slight me: Lisboa for sending a mere Lord and Monrovia for sending me this cur that most likely has two drops of noble blood at best! Laxaria thought me good enough for a Prince and Sacria for a King! 

“Peace, Rose”. Jim is suddenly at my side. “There is no time to quarrel now. It is time”.   
The musicians blow the royal herald meaning that I have an announcement. 

“My people, you have looked about contenders for your future King as have I. Though we all loved and miss His Majesty King George greatly we must continue the ruling of our nation with two gracious sovereigns. And so in order to do so I must cast mourning aside and begin life anew. Please join me in doing so”.   
Reeling inside, I rise and take the hand a guard offers to me and let him lead me out into the bright afternoon sunshine. There is a great bonfire blazing in the center of our makeshift tent city sending choking black smoke towards the endless expanse of the sky. I wait until everyone surrounds me to conclude. “I renounce mourning and sadness and embrace new life. I embrace happiness and love. I embrace the goodwill of love of my people. As you have come out of the darkness into the light, so shall I!” I declare. I gingerly remove the gossamer blue mourning veil and dangle it before the flames. “Let us rejoice!” I cry out. I let the flames lick their way up the material until my fingertips get hot and I have no choice but to drop it. Applause explodes all around us as Victor, Earl of Carew and former order of the King’s garter, replaces the cursed veil with a crown of freshly picked yellow roses. I am now officially courting to be married. The court showers me with rose petals and various seeds to encourage the growth of something beautiful. It is a merry affair but I feel so dark in my heart that it takes everything in me not to cry.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, friends! My inspiration is in overdrive for this fic - I haven't had a passion like this in what seems like years. Pardon the trash formatting, be nice to me, and whatnot! KUDOS AND COMMENTS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. Seriously, I want to know what you think! Enjoy :)

IV. 

After the veil burning we are all escorted to the edge of the great field where it borders on the clearest, most pristine lake that Taured has to offer. I have chosen this spot especially for the great tables so that no one can complain that they have no water to wash their hands in or to drink in the extreme that they are not partial to wine. I have to admit that the feeling of the wind, uncontested through my hair is nice - it allows me the semblance of a smile. All of the tables are facing directly towards the great one where I am seated as opposed to along the paneled walls in the Great Hall. Today there are enough seats for myself, Nan, Jim, the suitors, and I even give William a place with us today in honor of his celebratory news. It caused a bit of a quarrel with Nan but I have insisted upon having Jim on my right and William on my left lest I risk being seen showing indirect favor to one man over the other.  
William seems to have forgotten his earlier ire towards me because he is exuberant with the news of his coming wedding, nearly cooing at everyone until there is yet another blast of trumpets and servants come streaming towards us for the ceremonial presentation of dishes. “Roasted larks for Laxaria!” the herald calls. The lid is lifted off my plate and sure enough, there are a myriad of small birds upon it. They have been roasted and then artfully arranged back inside of their skins to perch upon our plates. A few seats down, Lord May audibly chokes on his wine. “It is a delicacy for our people, your Majesty. I am touched” Says Prince Meddows. Revulsion renders me mute. How barbaric! Jim gives me a quick pinch and I force a smile. “I am glad of it, your Grace” I manage. Everyone is gazing at me expectantly. Oh God in Heaven, I have to at least take a bite of it!  
I hold my breath and motion for one of the servers to prepare it and when he is done I take the smallest bite that the world has ever seen. Rich flavor - richer than I thought for such a little bird - explodes on my tongue. Somehow, I manage to manfully swallow my portion, chasing it with wine to conceal the gag rising in my throat. The court applauds prettily at my gesture. “Poor wee thing” remarks Lord Mercury. William and Jim seem unbothered, Prince Meddows is eagerly digging in, and Lord May clearly would rather be roasted and presented himself than partake of the dish. No wonder he is so skinny, I think critically. He is much too picky, though I cannot really blame him for this.  
Other dishes are presented in quick succession: venison in the Sacrian style in homage for them being renowned for their hunting skills, that bland white califlower that Lisboans are so fond of, and, oddly, round fruits that are far too large to be oranges that are pink and bitter on the inside from Monrovia. “Whatever are these?” I grimace from the jarring flavor. “Shattock” Lord May replies in Monrovian. I glance swiftly at Jim for translation in case I’ve misheard. 

“Grapefruits” he replies grimly. “The forbidden fruit?” It escapes me before I can even stop it. Scholars have been debating on whether or not it is the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden for centuries. “If you believe such swill” he remarks. King John’s ears seem to perk up at his remark. “You call Holy writ swill? I shall move from you to avoid lightning” he interjects. “I’d always thought that it was a quince, myself” remarks Lord Mercury. The dark haired Lord rolls his eyes.  
“I say no such thing” - he points his green filled fork at his neighboring sovereign - “Only that the fact that Eve made a choice is constantly glossed over in favor of something else. The serpent and now supposedly a bewitched fruit”. “Nothing with a flavor such as this can possibly be bewitched” jests Prince Meddows. His blue eyes sparkle with amusement at the coming debate. “And you, your Majesty? Do you not think that choice has a say in the matter?” he asks to include me. “Or are you more partial to the serpent?” I do not even have to look up to know how dares to ask such a loaded question. “I hear that snakes are more plentiful in Monrovia, Lord May, so you would know it far better than I” I retort. Why is he even here if all that he means is torment me about the past? It was not I who flung our Mothers from that roof in Lisboa, it was their own choices. Wisely, he chooses not to answer, but pins me with a long look.  
“Did you know that Lord Mercury sings?” Jim pipes up helplessly. The man in question flushes with pleasure at his attention. “I certainly do! Shall I?” he turns to me.  
“Later”, I promise. “First there is something more pressing that we must do”.  
***  
“Must you always let him goad you?” Jim demands as we make our way to the gilded open air carriages we are to ride in through the nearby village to greet our people. This is the most important aspect of their visit: interacting with the public. A ruler is not good unless they are beloved and understand the needs of their subjects. “I know not of what you speak” I sniff disdainfully. “Please!” He pauses as we are helped up into the grandest one in the center of the procession. “You fool no one. You were ready to tear out his hair. I thought we discussed being civil towards Monrovia many times” he drops his voice to a whisper as there are people milling around us to embark the other carriages.  
“How am I expected to be civil when he is not to me? You heard what he said about the snakes!” I hiss in outrage.  
“Rose, you are a Queen! He is but a lowly Lord! You are better than he and you must act like it. You represent Taured poorly when you behave like a child!” “So I am just supposed to stand by when I am slighted? When did you suddenly turn into Nan?” I want to know. “When did you suddenly decide to impose your will upon me?” he shoots back. “What?” My outrage is so potent that it causes a phalanx of heads to turn in our direction. “Now you’ve done it. I cannot ride with you when you are like this”. He snaps for a footman to help him down. I grasp his hand in an attempt to make him stay. “James!” He shakes me off. The man who has approached stands stock still awaiting orders, pointedly pretending to ignore us.  
“You promised to never take away my will and to always hear my voice. I thought that you meant it, but it seems as if you have not heard me at all. I am going to seek another carriage, your Majesty. Perhaps with my betrothed” the last word contains so much venom that I shrink back and let him pass me to disembark.

At once, a golden head peers around the side of the carriage. “Prince Meddows” I acknowledge him as brightly as I am able. He ignores the gloved hand extended to him and heaves himself over the side. “Roger”, he corrects. “You must call me Roger now that we are acquainted. I am Roger and you shall be my Rose”. There is a jolt as we begin our journey. I raise my eyebrows. “Your Rose?” I demand archly. “Yes, at least until your other sweetheart is no longer put out with you” he says. “Other sweetheart?” He gives me a long look. “The mustached man. I walked by and heard your quarrel. Why marry him off to someone else when he desires you?” “Lord Hutton does not desire me, he is only my advisor and he is betrothed to another man called Sir William! Do all Laxarians spy on each other, then?”  
“Only on those that we deem worth it”. He shrugs and flings an arm about my shoulder. I attempt to move out from under it but he holds me fast. “You forget yourself!” I assert in Laxarian so not all can understand. Roger chuckles. “How so? The air has a chill and I only wish to keep you warm” he claims innocently. The fields around us are green and lush like the emeralds I bear on my wrist. Grazing cattle and sheep are gray dots as they graze in the distance and the air is sweet with the scent of freshly cut hay. Children lean eagerly out of the windows of the little stone and timber houses at the sound of our caravan’s approach, waving frantically.

I stand and wave back until we are in the courtyard where the village church lies. It is swarmed with the villagers that could not attend the feasts due to working in the fields.  
“Gracious Queen!” The crowd parts to make way for Father Tom Green, their unspoken leader, who is clad in robes bearing the same color as his surname. Like the others he smells of sweat and dust of the field but I hug him anyway. “You look well!” He exclaims, holding me at arms length to gaze at me. Then he sees the extra men in the party. “And who are these fine young men?” Roger brazenly steps forward. “Prince Roger of Laxaria” he asserts. I am shocked that he uses his name as opposed to his title. The others have no choice but to follow suit. “King John of Sacira”. “Lord Mercury” Freddie says, uncharacteristically shy. “And I am Lord May of Monrovia”. His grizzled eyebrows raise as he names his nation.  
“Are you a scholar, Lord May? You resemble one that I know of, a Sir Francis Suffolk. Are you called Frances as well?”  
He hardly strikes me as a Francis. “No, your excellency. I am called Brian” he answers. “Walk with me then, Sir Brian. I have a dilemma I wish to discuss with you…” He has to look up when he speaks to him but they still manage to drift off together ahead of us as the rest of the court goes for their own pursuits.  
A blur of pale green smacks into my skirts. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” cries Cora, my favorite child of the village. “Our stable cat had kittens! Come see, come see!” Her excitement is so vehement that it showcases the gap between her two front teeth. Lord Mercury materializes by my side. “Yes, yes! Let us go see” he implores me. “Very well. Lead the way, little one” I command. This order gives her time to inform her Mother she will have royal guests, though she probably already knows since I always stop by their little farmhouse when I visit the village. The girl dashes off in front of us. We trail behind her. 

“You are beloved here” Lord Mercury notes. He sounds almost sad. “Says the favorite of the court! How many dishes did ladies send you? I lost count after the sixth!” Sending extra portions to another courtier is a way that we in Taured express our desire for one another before declaration of an intent to court. It says that one person wishes to get to know one another, that they have eye on them. My own Mother courted my Father by sending him extra portions that started out subtle and grew bigger for two weeks. He grins impishly at me. “You must’ve missed the gentlemen…” his voice grows abruptly sadder. “But it isn’t desire that I speak of. You are well liked by your people. I envy you that”. “I hardly believe that no one desires you” I object, thinking of Jim’s flirtation and sideways glances at him when he thinks no one is looking.  
“In Lisboa it is not the way that it is for me here. There I am...different. They make jests about my appearance, my long hair, and my teeth, as if I do not already know that they are great in size. I had to get away. That’s why”-  
Cora rushes from the barn ahead of us, cradling something black, and Lord Mercury’s sadness seems to vanish into thin air. “Oh, how darling!” he exclaims. “Let us see the others!” We are led inside the barn and to a pallet bed set up in the corner where four other kittens are nestled. “You like cats a lot” Cora sounds almost suspicious - he’s sank to the stone floor and swept up the little ones in his arms, not caring of the dust or scratches that their little claws are leaving on his silk shirt. “I have four” he announces proudly, then begins rattling off their names. I give them a wave and make my way back out to the countryside to take a walk.  
Whatever he had been about to tell me was interrupted but I feel as if it is of vital importance. Sadness overcomes me when I recall the beaten look in his dark eyes. He would make a wonderful King of Taured. Everyday will be like a feast day, the clothes will be grand, and the court with glitter with an intermingling of Taured and Lisboa’s finest jewels. And yet...I do not feel as if he could love me with his whole heart. It is somehow divided and I cannot figure out by what. Also it is clearly obvious that Jim fancies him and he returns the admiration. Would that strain our relationship further?   
Jim, dearest Jim! How have I taken away his will as he claims? He’d said to me last night that he needed a solution and I have provided it...haven’t I? My distracted wandering has taken me deep into the orchard boarding the land of Cora’s parents. The ground is littered with late summer apples and wasps buzz lazily around their split skins. I am so busy dodging the dreaded little things that I do not notice the man until I ram right into him. “What the devil-? Oh, your Majesty. I’m sorry! Why do you not have a guard with you? It is foolish. Anything could befall you” says a familiar, infuriating voice. Lord May is regarding me curiously, apple in one hand and basket in the other. “Did you ask to pick those?” I want to know.  
His brow furrows at the interrogation. “Of course! What do you take me for, some sort of scoundrel?” “I know you not” I reply, still stung by his serpent remark from this morning’s banquet. “You do not wish to know me either”. My lips part to contradict me. “Do not deny it. You and I are born enemies” he informs me as if I do not know. Oddly, he sinks down the bark of the nearest tree and sits. “Join me” he implores, patting the only other clear patch of grass next to him. I cannot help but be sarcastic: “You invite your enemy to sit?” “Let us cast that aside for a moment. You need protection and I will need help hauling these apples back to the palace” he nods towards his overflowing basket.

“You order the Queen of Taured, your sovereign, to haul your fruits like a common laborer?” Outrage colors my question. “I am not Taurean therefore you cannot be my sovereign”. “You forget-” I begin. “I forget myself, I know. But even if I remembered the poor lad you still would shun me” he accuses. I sink down beside him with a huff. “There. How do I shun you now?” He kicks off his peculiar shoes - white with no rear protection for one’s heel yet with a little wooden lift affixed to the bottoms - and pushes them to the side before answering.  
“You sentence me for the crimes of my Father like everyone else” he sighs. His father? “Do you mean the King?” I am mystified at this. “The King is only my father in spirit - is it not indicated by the fact that I am only a Lord of Monrovia and not a full blood prince? I am as good as a bastard because I only carry half royal blood from my mother. For all I know my Father was a stableboy. Why do you look like that? Surely you knew!” I shake my head slowly. “The King was gracious enough to ennoble me a Lord and to consider me his own when the other scoundrel ran off. But I shall never be King. Nor will I know the truth…” he does not need to finish his tale, for we both know where it ends. It ends with our Mothers bleeding upon Lisboan flagstones, still somehow hands clasped after their great leap.   
For the first time in all of my years I feel genuine pity for him. Why had I not considered he had lost a mother as well? “I am sorry, Lord May” I say and I mean it this time. We will always share this pain no matter how old we grow. “Brian,” he corrects gently. “I, too, feel sorrow for your pain. It is just easier…” “To blame others rather than yourself” I finish. His hazel eyes widen. “D’you blame yourself? Why?”   
“I do and I do not. It is hard to explain. We were not enough for her. This” - I gesture to the broad expanse of the orchard and accompanying countryside - “was not enough. We could not hold her. It was always something or someone else”. “You are angry” Brian notes. I scoff. “It seems I am meant to be constantly vexed in your presence”. He smiles at my teasing. “In Monrovia it is thought that your Mother lured mine away from her happy, domestic, godly life” he informs me. More anger surges through me. “Oh? You think this is so?” I check. “Well…” he hedges. “I did not know her as you did. But I knew my own and the King could be a brute. Both could”. His words are a dagger to my suddenly exposed, bleeding heart. I cannot bear them.  
“You dare to insult my father?” “These are well documented facts”- I refuse to hear any more of this! I scramble to my feet and he follows reflexively. “Wait!”   
“My Father had a wandering eye but he was a good husband to her! How can you say he was the cause?” “I didn’t!” “Just like you didn’t directly call me a serpent or insult the virtue of my Mother at the banquet?” That brings him up short. “You are the lowest of things, insulting those who are already in the ground!”   
Brian gives a short, bitter laugh,, finally provoked. “I? You were prejudiced against me from the moment we met. If you were this venomous with poor King George then it is no wonder why he perished!” He snaps. An ocean of silence stretches between us. Very deliberately, I remove the ring from my finger. “I reject your gift” I spit.   
“You cannot slight Monrovia this way! You invite war to the doorstep of your country” he threatens. 

Beyond words, I toss the cursed ruby monstrosity at him. It hits his chest with a muted thud. “I do not care so long as you are no longer in it! Get out of here! Go home to Monrovia!” “I am already there, for we will invade this pathetic little territory and name it the same!” He barks back. That does it: I fly at him in a blind rage, hoping to scratch his smug face. But he is lithe and quick as a cat. 

He catches my wrists at once in an iron unbreakable grasp. “Let me go! Scoundrel! Cur! Bastard!” “You mean to attack ME! Peace! Peace, damn you, before I run you through with my dagger!” He backs me up till my back hits rough bark, effectively pinning me against a tree. Dread fills me. Will he really stab me? Or worse, tear off my skirts and sully my honor? I gaze up at him, wide eyed with fear.   
His glorious face is livid, flushed with anger, and his forehead beaded with sweat. His hair is pointing every which way after our little scuffle; I have managed to rip his silk hose. As I watch him his expression begins to lapse from fury to confusion. He releases my hands.   
“God’s blood! What are we doing?” Now he says this after all but declaring war on me? 

Chest heaving, he bows low before me - as he should. “I am sorry, Your Majesty. Rose. I...should not have threatened you nor spoke about your relations” he apologizes breathlessly. My voice is small when I respond, the fight suddenly gone out of me. “But you are right. Monrovia will declare war on us. It is only a matter of time”. “I know nothing of these plans. I swear it”. Somehow I cannot believe him.  
“Escort me back to the carriages” I command. “Your Majesty”- “Escort me back!” I repeat. “I must rest”. Plus the court cannot see us looking dirty and disbelieved together. What would they think? My life always seems to be about the thoughts of others. 

It seems as if it’ll never change.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! I have to say, this is the most consistent thing I've ever written - normally I get burnt out and lose inspo halfway through but not for this one. Also - I switched up the POV a bit to give you a little insight into the head of our favorite fellows and to keep things fresh. Plus, is a story really a story without some Freddie/Delilah interactions? I think not! Let me know what you think down below - comments are very helpful. I appreciate everyone who has left kudos and bookmarked and commented as well. Thank you. Enjoy!

V.

The cat is small, black and white, and everywhere. First, she terrorizes Prince Meddows by leaping upon him while he breaks his fast in his private chamber. This ignites his temper: she can only belong to that damned Mercury fellow and he has somehow let her get out. Intending to give him a piece of his mind, he attempts to scoop her up but she darts into the hallway to evade him. He follows hot on her heels, not caring that he is only clad in his nightshirt. “Mercury!” He bellows, knocking on miscellaneous doors. “ Mercury, you get out here right now and face me as a man! Contain your damned cat!” A heavy wooden door at the end of the hall cracks open and a man in Sacrian livery pokes his head out. “His Majesty, King Deacon, requests that you keep it down so that he may have a peaceful bath-OH!” He exclaims in surprise at the end. The little cat scurries past him. There is a loud crash and a curse as she leaps upon the Sacrian King, startling him so badly that he almost overturns in the tub of gold he commissioned to be brought with him. The guard turns on his heel to file into the room. Roger follows.

King John is distastefully holding the now soaking wet, yowling little hellcat away from him when they come upon him. His cheeks flame at the sight of his unexpected guest. “What is the meaning of this!?” He barks. Wordlessly, Roger lunges for the cat. “Don’t”- John begins to warn, but it is too late. She leaps artfully from his hold and onto the silk embroidered coverlet upon the great royal bed. “No! That was a GIFT!” He explodes in distress, leaping to his feet. “Good God, man!” Roger protests, clapping his hands over his eyes. John grabs a drying sheet from his nearest attendant and knots it around his waist before stepping from the bath. “Is this cat yours?” he demands menacingly. Roger peeps through his fingers to ensure that the other man is decent before uncovering his eyes. In Laxaria one must ask special permissions to view other high ranking members of the court naked. Of course, Roger did not really get the chance to ask for permission due to the sheer number of Laxarian ladies that threw themselves at him. Nor did he mind that he did not. Still, this is a King and he does not know the customs of his land.

“Any pet of mine would be much better behaved!” He replies, thinking lovingly of the ferrets he had to leave behind in Laxaria. “Then it must belong to”- John begins, but before he can finish his sentence, in storms Lord Mercury, already dressed for the day in a startling green ensemble.   
“Delilah! My poor little darling!” He coos, snatching her up into his arms. He then glares at the other two men. “What have you done to her?” “What have we done to her!?” Roger explodes. He takes an enraged step forward. “You butcher’s son…!” Freddie accuses, tensing for a battle. Back in Lisboa he is quite renowned for his sparring skills so it will be a match that this pretty little lad will lose. King John springs between them, putting a hand against their chests to stop them. “Fellows, fellows, please! Peace!” he pleads. Roger strains against his hold. “I said peace! By order of the King!” John snaps. Both men have no choice but to relax. Roger takes a step back.

“You consider yourself King already? We’ve been here one day!” he says incredulously. “Just like a Sacrian to assume” Freddie mutters. John pretends not to hear him. “Well, since we have been brought together by some strange force, we might as well convene while we break our fasts. Join me?” he offers. “Very well”, Freddie agrees. “But I won’t have my Delilah in such a hostile environment. I shall return” with that, he sweeps just as dramatically from the room as he entered it. Roger and John stare after him in wonder.

A good twenty minutes later, they are all gathered around the table in King John’s chambers. Freddie raises an eyebrow at the silk robe Roger has thrown over his nightdress. It is black and embroidered with snapdragons, hydrangeas, and the leaves of the date palms that dot Lisboa’s shores. “Nice” he comments. Roger preens like a peacock. “Thank you. It was a gift” he announces.   
“From the Queen? If so, do not feel too special. Lord May seems to have gotten the greatest one of all” he says slyly. John grimaces through a sip of dreadfully sweet Taurean wine. “Of what do you speak? Do not tell tales” he warns. “It is not from my Rose nor does she bestow favor upon anyone else but me” boasts Roger. Surely she likes him! He thinks of her amused expression when they first met yesterday, of the warmth of her body next to his. Goodness, does he want her! “Your Rose?” John scoffs. “Oh no, dear, apparently she is Lord May’s Rose. They were seen emerging from the orchard together in the village looking quite disheveled” Freddie informs them.

The Sacrian King, who had been busy helping shepard boys construct a better pen until they had been called back to the carriages, had not seen nor had he heard such a thing. He had, however, noticed how subdued the Queen had been at dinner and how listlessly she had clapped at the dancers and masques. “Surely you jest. Did you not have eyes in your head yesterday? They abhor one another!” Roger refutes around a mouthful of apple. “Abhorrence can blossom into passion…” John trails off with a frown. “But wait! Were you not with her most of the time!? Who is to say she does not favor you and that you are you are covering your tracks!” Roger accuses. Freddie glowers at the petite blond who is quickly becoming a thorn in his side. 

“I am sure it must’ve only been a quarrel. We don’t know for sure” John says thoughtfully. From the leaded windows he sees the young curly haired Lord in question strolling the footpaths in the garden, deep in conversation with the herald from yesterday. Hannaford or Halstead or Hutton, he thinks. Both faces look grave. “What is so interesting down there?” Jealousy makes Roger belligerent. He scrambles to the window without waiting for an answer. “Aye, it’s Lord May and the other one!” He confirms. “Other one?” Freddie asks. “The stocky one with the mustache. The herald from yesterday” the blond confirms.   
The Lisboan Lord is out of his seat as if the devil is after him. His eyes unfailingly seek out Lord Hutton, who is now laying a hand on his younger charge’s shoulder. He colors up with temper. “Jim”. The word is hard and unpleasant. Why can’t Lord Hutton pay attention to him instead of that dreadful Brian?   
“What has the lad done to you?” John wants to know. “Absolutely nothing”, Freddie says, visibly sulking. “Yet I like him not”.   
****  
“...So you see, Lord Hutton, that it is best for me to leave now? I cannot stand another moment here” Brian sighs. Lord Hutton looks discomfited. “It is not my place to give you permission to do such a thing. That is up to the Queen” he says. He himself has made it his business not to have seen her but in passing since their row yesterday. “Where is she, then? She told me to go yesterday so I’m sure she will not mind it!” Fury is evident in the lanky man’s tone. Jim wishes that this knowledge is shocking, but alas, Rose has a legendary temper when she is provoked.   
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your remarks yesterday, would it?” He checks. Brian flushes, turning his head away in defiance. “I know not of which you speak” he mumbles. 

“We were all there” Jim challenges quietly. Yes, and they were all there when he rebuked her as well. He has been receiving sidelong glances all morning because he is not by her side. But how can he be after she...she...found him the solution that he begged for? “She never intended to like me” Brian argues. Why, he could never imagine. When his father had suggested someone go to Taured he had been the only one to step forward to do his duty. Would this haughty Queen do so if the situations were reversed? He thought not. “My boy, it is not about whether you ‘like’ one another or not. People are too focused nowadays on the pleasures of bed and board and not about the advantages of an alliance. And…” he drops his voice to a whisper, motioning for Brian to learn in closer.

“She is still grieving, do not forget. It has not been very long since the mourning period ended for our dearly departed Majesty, George. Lord May, her biggest problem with you could be that you are not him” As he speaks, he notices a flash of emerald in a window above them, along with a broad, familiar face glaring out at them. Lord Mercury! And...he squints to see a smudge of blonde and the amber color of honey. Are the rest of the suitors spying on them? Impossible! Sighted, the three men duck quickly out of view and someone pulls curtains back across the glass. Lord May laughs at the spectacle.   
“They think I’ve lain with her like everyone else” he guesses accurately. “I have been treated oddly all of the morrow. I do not want to have shame upon either of us. Another reason why I must go”. Jim shakes his head. “Let me speak to them. I will also speak to the Queen. Do nothing until I do so. Go about your business and wait to be summoned. She shall be returning from Father Green’s mass at any moment”. Brian nods his acquiescence but in truth he has already made his decision.   
***

“...So you see, your Majesty, the blaze at Marchioness Isabelle’s house was not my fault, but of a sheep running astray in the night that I had to chase lest I risk being beaten by my master” Implores the young man. I am in the Great Room chamber taking petitions from the people, a tradition I always hold every Sunday afternoon. I give Lord Halstead, the master in question, a long penetrating look. “Halstead”, I call. “Step forward”. The sound of his heeled shoes is deafening on the marble rose patterned floor. 

“You are aware that beating those in your service is against the law, are you not?” I demand severely. From the window embrasure to the side of me, flanked by Prince Meddows and Lord Mercury, I notice King Deacon nod silent encouragement.   
“Y-yes”, he stammers. “But this beast was our prize sheep and the boy had failed to properly secure the pen for the eleventh time this month. He is lazy, he does not work well. He shows up late and flirts shamelessly with my daughters. I have no choice but to discipline him for that”. “As I have no choice but to fine you, amount determined after the conclusion of your explanation. Continue” I command. 

“My bones are weary from working the fields all day and t’was dark so I sent the lad out with a torch. Somehow or other, he says, the sheep wandered onto the marchionesses summer manor property. Some rogues thought it funny to scare him and so he tripped right into the hay stacked against the outer wall, lighting up ablaze, and her windows were opened”- I hold up a hand to stop him.   
“I am taking the boy from your service and placing him within the Marchionesses until he can work off the damages he caused. You will keep paying him as if he is still your apprentice and you are banished from court for three days. And if I hear of you laying a hand upon him or anyone else I will halve your retinue. Be gone”. Every Lord of Taured has a few able bodied men to defend their manors and castles but not all are soldiers. Diminishing his retinue is to slash his safety net. Bandits can be quite merciless in the countryside.   
Lord Halstead scurries away followed by the boy. “Next!” I announce listlessly. My legs are falling asleep and will stay that way at this rate. 

“A messenger from Montori, your Grace!” Booms the herald. The messenger is, surprisingly, a woman clad in an elaborate gown of crimson and gold. She curtseys low at my feet. “Your Majesty”. “My lady”. I nod at her to rise. What could this possibly be about? Have I slighted them somehow? Their nation is north to Laxaria and the monarchs mostly keep themselves. There is a flicker of motion in the window embrasure as the woman unseals her scroll; Lord Mercury has risen and hurried out of the chamber as if he were on fire.

“I come bearing a message on behalf of the Princess Mary” she informs me. I feel a frisson of curiosity mixed with apprehension. “She wishes to get permission to come to your court and claims that she has business with you” continues the messenger. Business with me? My mind spirals out to the last time I saw her - what were we? Ten? Eleven? Surely it was before my first wedding. What could she possibly want with me? “Did she say what said business was?” She shakes her head. “No, your Majesty”. “Well...I do not see why not. Sure. Inform us of the day and we will have a welcoming feast”. She nods and backs out into the crowd, honoring the rule of never turning one’s back on a neighboring sovereign. I motion for the next one and King John springs up to approach me.  
“I should like to escort you to this evenings barge races” he asserts. Not to be outdone Prince Meddows bounds up to the dais behind him. “And I shall like to dance a pavane with you at their conclusion” he pipes up. The pavane is a slow moving, sensual dance that involves the pressing together of hands and elaborate turns. I feel a shiver of anticipation. “Very well to you both” I extend an arm to John. “Shall we?” He beams down at me to help me up. “We shall”. 

****

We are a regal couple in the procession to the wide river in view of the palace. He is resplendent in black with a red velvet surcoat and the clasps of his sleeves are solid diamond. He has gotten me a smart green riding hat to match my dress. The great silk flowers sewn upon it bob lazily in the breeze as we ride. “We look as if we rule together already, do we not?” Asks the Sacrian King. It is surreal that he is here with me and saying such things. Days ago Sacria was only thought of in terms of trade or in passing.   
Now we are riding side by side with the anticipation of betrothal ahead of us. I smile at him. “We do”. He would be a fair, gracious King, perhaps even faithful. Suddenly he reaches out to place my hand on his arm. “Shall I pull off this fancy sleeve?” I tease, but he presses my hand into the lush fabric. “I want to know that I have you” he murmurs. My heart does little flips that are so intense they must be audible. He pins me to the seat with his dark, intense gaze.   
“If I ask you something as a man, will you tell it to me?” “Yes” I promise automatically. Oddly enough, he flushes. “Does anyone else posses you in the ways that I wish to? There are rumors. Lord Hutton…” he trails off to look ahead where the lovers are riding. William whispers something to Jim and he tosses his head back and laughs, much to the visible dismay of Lord Mercury. It is painfully clear that he fancies him. 

“...Is going to marry another and clearly has many admirers” I finish for him. He chuckles. “Very well, I’ll give you that one. But there is another, one troubling rumor”. Suddenly he cannot look at me. I groan. “Do not tell me that you believe such swill, whatever it is” I implore. I cannot bear any more false rumors. There’s a jolt as we pass over a bed of stones. John sighs. “Did you and Lord May...did he...did you have one another? Do you know one another carnally?” He asks. My answering laugh is deafening. “What makes you ask such a nonsense question? Of course not!” He looks relieved. “I am sorry, your Grace. You were seen exiting the orchard with dirt smudged on your gown and he was escorting you, so it caused rumors. I will shoot them down from now on”.   
I gaze at him in alarm: Sacria is renowned for its hunting. John bursts into laughter. “Not that way! My goodness, Rose!” Then he freezes in apprehension. “It is alright if I call you Rose?” He checks. I smile. “Yes, your Majesty. John” I tack on at the end. 

He remains by my side until he has to depart for the barge designed for Sacria. From the one wearing Taured’s standard, Jim and William wave excitedly to the onlookers. Jim gives me a small nod when I wave back, signifying that we will discuss our issue later. I drop my silk handkerchief and there is distant cannon fire. “Go!” I declare. And they’re off, only...I squint out into the water, sparkling gold in the sun. There are only three barges neck and neck on the water. Where is Monrovia? I look around. Better yet, where is Lord May?   
“Nan” I wave her over. “Why is Lord May not here?” She seems puzzled. “I am not sure. He was just badgering Sir Hannaford for a new horse so he could ride out here not too long ago” she tells me. But why would he need a new horse if he were just joining my procession? ‘Get out!’ I had told him. I had thrown his ring at him and rejected his gift. Torn his silk hose and brought him shame. Guilt overwhelms me. “How long ago was this? When you saw him?”   
“Perhaps about an hour ago. You were still holding audiences” she recalls. If he wanted to be here right now he definitely would be. Which can only mean one thing.

“Nan, he did not intend to ride out here or he would be here. Lord May has deserted us. He’s left!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, three chapters in three days! I am super proud of myself! Thank you all for sticking with me so far - I promise the action will pick up within the next couple of chapters. And no, I couldn't resist throwing a little Freddie/Jim moment in there, either. I just love them together! Comments and kudos and whanot are greatly appreciated. I want to know what you all think! Enjoy :)  
> P.S - I know my formatting is unorthodox due to the zillions of words, but does spacing it this way break it up more and make it easier to read? It's my hope that it does. My AP English teacher is probably feeling multiple disturbances in the force as we speak. Lol. Okay, on to the story!

VI.  
Gone. Gone! I am so thunderstruck by this turn of events that I can hardly bring myself to clap and cheer as the barges flit through the water neck and neck. “Faster! Faster! You must be quicker than that, darling!” Explodes Lord Mercury from the helm of the vessel to the rowers. “Your Grace, this is the fastest that I can stroke!” The chief rower frets. “Well then, I pity your Lady Wife!” He snaps. On Laxaria’s barge, Prince Meddows is more easygoing. He is perched in the drummer’s section, tapping out an impressive rhythm and imploring ladies to dance. Someone has even taken up a flute. They are messing around yet are still coming up close to passing Lisboa. 

“Give it all you’ve got, lads!” Orders King Deacon from the cushioned chair of state for Sacria. His cheeks are flushed with excitement and he’s waving a blue and gold pennant with their bow and arrow emblem upon it. “À Sacria!” He cries, raising his free fist. “À Sacria!” Answer the people aboard the boat. Freddie curses when they sail past him.  
Even from the river, Jim notices my distress. He holds up a hand to slow the men rowing. 

“Come on, Taured! Win for your Queen!” I shout encouragement with s flick of my fingers letting them know to proceed. It is also a message stating that the two of us will confer later. “Onward, men! Let us win to protect her majesty’s honor!” William declares forcefully. “For her majesty’s honor!” Echo the nobility on board. I would chuckle if I were not so distressed. Men take sporting ever so seriously! 

All the while they race and shout to one another my mind is working, scheming on what I must do. If I send a great retinue after Lord May and order him to come back I doubt he will. Worse, if he has somehow managed to cross the mountains into Monrovia it will be seen as a declaration of war. Even a few soldiers or trusted men would be seen as a slight. Jim is put out with me; who else can I trust to say nothing and have the skills to make it back alive? No one, I realize. It will have to be me.  
Just then, Laxaria’s barge sails through the finishing point followed closely by Sacria, Lisboa, and Taured. “Hail Laxaria!” Roger cries out joyfully. He lifts his hand and, oddly, a companion of his slaps his palm against his. I nod to Nan to ready to treasure boxes for the prizes as the gangplanks are extended and then men stroll down them towards the canopy of stare. 

“You make rowing a pretty sport, Meddows. You showed great persistence” I hear Freddie tell Roger. “You even put Sacria to shame - we, who are renowned for our sports and games. I am glad of it” says John. The three are fast becoming friends: they walk with their arms about one another. I rise and curtesy to them. “Prince Roger of Laxaria, come forth to claim your prize” I order. It takes a great effort for him to merely walk. 

“I humbly and eagerly receive any prize you wish to bestow upon me, Your Majesty”. His blue eyes smolder up at me when he speaks. A few courtiers raise their eyebrows so there’s no way I am imagining the double meaning. If I’d let him, he would have me right here on the riverbank.  
I reward him with a smile for his boldness and reach into the chest to pluck out a fine gold and diamond chain from my own treasury. “For you, your highness” I offer it up to him. At once he unclasps the heavy sapphire chest piece he wears and fastens mine into place. “I shall always keep it with me” he pledges, kissing my hand. 

“Let us dine now on the victor’s barge” I declare. Over his shoulder, I spot Jim making his way towards us.  
“Great show, Prince Meddows”- he then turns to me - “Your Majesty, if I may have a word with you?” Roger’s smile falls when I offer Lord Hutton my arm. “I shall see you inside” he promises before stalking away. Jim chuckles in his wake. “It seems that the fellow has a bit of a jealous streak” he remarks. “I wonder where he gets that from”. I eye Lord Mercury, who is conversating animatedly with Nan yet keeps shooting glances our way. Jim turns to nod a greeting to them. “I know it not”, he says pointedly, “Let us walk”.  
We stroll a ways up the bank but not far enough where we are out of sight of the barges with a guard trailing behind us. “James”, I begin with his full name so he knows I am serious. “Lord May has gone”. He does not meet my eye. “Aye” he says. “You know?” I accuse. “He sought me out this morrow to get permission to leave but I could not give it. I told him to wait until I spoke with you”. “You knew I would say no”. It is not a question. Allowing one suitor to leave would be to hold the door open for all of the rest. 

Still he does not tear his eyes from the clouds rolling in from the west. “I did” he confirms. “Jim, look at me” I command. His gaze is reserved as he complies. “I owe Lord May an apology but firstly, I owe one to you. I only did what I thought was best and I see now that it was not best if you were not consulted first. Forgive me” I plead. “It is not just that…” he begins. “Then what is it? Pray tell me what it is and what I can do to make it right. I like it not when we quarrel”. “Oh, Rose…!” A rush of emotion makes him clasp my hands. 

“I do not know if marrying Will is the right thing for me. Sometimes I think it is so when he smiles at me and holds me close but others, when he has dark moods or jealousies I feel as if I am in love with a viper. And…” Shame chokes off the rest of his sentence. I know what he is going to say yet I have to let him utter it so he can admit it to himself.  
He hangs his head. “I am enthralled by another. Perhaps bewitched is the word that I want”. 

“He is a newcomer to court?” I prod gently. His fingers tighten on my arm. “Do not make me say it. I do not want to say it. Saying it makes it more real. Saying it will shame us both”. I am curious. “How so?” “Because he is meant for you, not I! Because you are the closest person to me and I treasure our bond and it could tear it asunder. Because I am betrothed to another!” He explodes.  
“James Hutton!” I exclaim, shocked. “Nothing in the world could ever tear you from my side. You are my dearest friend. If something is troubling you you must always tell me and I shall never shame you for it. Now say it!” “Lord Mercury” he bursts out. “It is Freddie. I have a blasted green affection for him like a maiden in springtime!” His color is so high that it matches his scarlet livery. 

“Surely you are not that only one” I soothe. Jim groans. “Of course I am not. That makes it all the worse because I desire to be the only one. I desire...I desire him”. “This could see you hanged in Lisboa” I remark grimly. “D’you think I do not know it? That the thought of losing him does not torment me?” I pull him to a stop to cease his frantic pacing.  
“You will not lose him. I will see to it. No matter which way my heart turns he shall have a place at court, Jim. You have my word. I now need yours”. “Anything” he vows. I draw him closer to me to whisper of my plan.  
***  
Much to Freddie’s disappointment, the grand banquet aboard a barge is cancelled due to the weather. He cannot help but sulk the entire way back to the palace. Out on the river he feels free, like a bird let loose from its cage to soar. Back here he feels trapped. As if a great chamber pot would empty from the sky about his head at any moment. She has found him. Of course she has. Mary has a vast network of spies. He should’ve known better than to go to the last place he said he would never: It was far too transparent. 

What will befall him if he does not eventually return to Lisboa and honor the wishes of his parents? Or worse, if Rose chooses another over him? Is his fancy for the fairer sex too weak to hold her? With a cry of frustration, he collapses back onto the great royal bed. Small feet make their way up his back and he turns to cradle the orange cat, one of many, in his arms. “Oh, Oscar”, he mourns aloud, “this is so dreadful”. Oscar meows his sympathy, nuzzling against his master’s chest. 

A timid knock sounds at the door of his temporary privy chamber. “Your Grace?” Asks the guard stationed at the door. Freddie scrambles to his feet and nods for the visitor to be let in. “Lord Hutton!” He cannot stop the delighted expression from bursting through his lips. Oscar leaps nimbly from his arms and trots over to the other man, sniffing curiously at Jim’s boots. He kneels to pet him and the Lisboan Lord’s heart skips a beat. “Have you a moment before dinner?” Asks Jim. 

“Yes! Yes, of course. Leave us” he commands the guard. After the man complies he motions for Jim to sit in a great stuffed chair he brought from home. Freddie himself sits safely on the edge of the royal bed, out of the way of temptation. Jim is even more handsome up close. Oh, what a cruel God to dangle such a man before him and then assign him to be with another! “I am afraid I must ask a favor of you” he begins shyly. Yes! Thinks Freddie. Anything! 

He leans forward eagerly. Jim cannot bear to glance at him for more than seconds at a time. Does he have any idea how lovely he is, with his wide dark eyes, made more prominent traced in kohl, strong jawline, and sweep of dark hair? And what of those dear, sweet lips that are parted in anticipation of his response? Ever since he has admitted his desire it is at the forefront of his mind. Damn it. Damn it all! He curses to himself. 

Aloud, he says: “This is rather silly but do you happen to have a spare riding ensemble in black? William would like to match me and you and he are roughly the same size”. Freddie cannot contain it anymore. “You cite him to me?” His asks in a low, menacing voice. “Is there some Lisboan law I am unaware of that states I cannot?” Jim checks, alarmed. His counterpart erupts to his feet and strides over to him. “You torment me” he accuses.  
It takes everything within Jim not to back up. If only Freddie knew that it was he that tormented him! 

“L-Lord Mercury, I”- “You know very well that I desire you, so do not act as if you have not seen my gazes upon you or returned them. Do not behave as if there is nothing between us”. For his own sanity, Jim gets up to leave but Freddie stops him with a hand upon his shoulder. “If I am imagining things then I beg your forgiveness for ever speaking of it and ask that we part as friends. But if I am not...you must tell me, Jim. I am in agony” he confesses. 

“Do not tell me of your agony. I do not want to hear that you suffer for me” Jim replies helplessly. Lord Mercury’s hand tightens desperately on his shoulder but he makes no move to remove it. “Is that all that you can say?” He cries. Jim reaches up to clasp his hand. “It is all that I dare to say. We are not meant for one another, Freddie. Now please let me go”. Both ignore the thrill that comes with the sound of Freddie’s name rolling off of Jim’s tongue. Freddie takes a step back and then crosses dutifully over to the clothes chest, unlatches it, and produces a garment wrapped in cloth. Lavender petals dot it’s surface. 

“To keep it fresh” he explains as he hands it over. “Many thanks” Jim manages. What a fool he is to be so drawn to someone he hardly knows! For the first time in years he feels as if he will cry. “Jim!” The sound of his name make his turn. Freddie is now sitting atop the clothes chest, Oscar perched in his lap. “You never answered my inquiry” he reminds him.  
Frantic dark eyes meet his. “I am Taured’s biggest fool to admit it, but I have a fever for your touch that I sometimes feel will consume me. I will see you at dinner”.  
***  
Prince Meddows is an unbelievably nimble and graceful dancer. As promised, we skip, hop, whirl, and clasp hands as his elaborate Laxarian dance demands and the court applauds prettily. “You mean to tire me out” I accuse as he dips me so low that my hair nearly sweeps the floor. He draws me back up against him, grinning. “I know not of which you speak” he sniffs, galloping me one way and then another. “You are Taured’s worst liar, Prince Meddows” I pant. Thankfully, the master musician calls for a break in the dancing so that the main course can be brought out, allowing us to file to our seats at the great tables. Roger slides into the seat next to me in a unprecedented breach of protocol, ignoring the murmurs of dissent when the courtiers have no choice but to rearrange themselves. Lord Mercury and King Deacon manage to worm their way over to my proximity amidst the chaos. I have to laugh.

“Will you ever remember yourselves in my presence?” Lord Mercury reaches over to pluck a sugared plum from my plate and stick it onto his own. “Not likely” he teases. “Shame on you” laughs King Deacon. “Take mine, your majesty” Roger offers immediately, trying and failing to sound stern. Candlelight flickers against the paneled walls and, in conjunction with the fading light outside, bathes us all in an ethereal glow. It is lovely picture but it will not be complete until I make it right. “Jim!” I spot him slipping into the dining room late, countenance troubled. I know at once: he’s gotten what I needed. 

“Will you excuse me?” I ask politely, disentangling myself from the fray of lovely phrases. “Are you well, dear? You look troubled” Freddie notes. John frowns curiously at me while Roger grasps my hand. “Surely you cannot be so cruel as to leave us all so soon!” He frets. “Oh, Prince Meddows, you will see me again soon! I will even grant you another dance”. He does not let go. “Promise” he insists. “I promise - all of you. In fact, I will set aside special days so we may spend time together individually. I will inform you all who is first in the morrow” I declare rashly. Satisfied for the moment, he releases me and I scurry out of the hall, into a scholar’s workroom, and bolt the door. Moments later our knock - three short ones followed by two drawn out ones - sound. I pull the door open to Jim, clutching the garment wrappings.

“You’ve got it!” I exclaim happily. He pulls the door shut behind him. “Aye, I’ve got it, never mind what it has cost me” he grumbles. We lay it on a desk and unwrap it. Thankfully it is the black ensemble we’ve requested, complete with a black riding hat. “I will never fit it” Jim frets. I turn and motion for him to undo my laces. “You will not have to” I inform him. Jim flips the fabric back over it. “No”. The word is hard and furious. I whirl on him. “What do you mean, no? Surely you did not guess that I would desire to fix my own mistake?” “Are you out of your head? Do you have any idea what could befall you if you are accosted by bandits? They would take you for ransom. Or worse”. Worse ranging from rape to torture to death, he means.

I pretend as if this does not trouble me, though he has a point: not everyone in Taured loves me as Freddie assumes. I have numerous reports of country dissenters along with rumors that my husband’s mistress begat a son and he is being reared to take my place. In the event of a Monrovian or Laxarian invasion they would be quick to side with our enemy. “I will take a guard” I say impatiently. “You think a single guard could hold off five men? Ten? A platoon of rebel soldiers?” He demands. Fear squeezes my heart in a vice. “There are so such things!” “You don’t know that. If something happens to you what will befall Taured? There is no King, you have no heir!” Jim argues.

Impatient, I reach behind myself and begin unlacing my gown on my own. “You shall be regent” I tell him. He pales. “I?” “Yes, you. You and William or whoever it is that you choose. You have been close to the throne all your life. You can do it. Shall I give it to you in a document sealed in my own blood or will you help me?” Numbly, he hurries over to assist with my laces and the stepping out of my great skirt. He dutifully covers his eyes as I divest and slide into the silk trousers and shirt.

“Well?” I ask, bounding my hair up to fit underneath the hat. “What do you think? Would you see me and mistake me for a lad?” He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “A wealthy one, yes. You will still be a target. Take five guards”. “One!” “Three!” “Two”, I declare severely. “Final offer”. He throws up his hands. “You are impossible. I hate that I must stay behind during this fool’s errand!” I reach out to touch his face. “I need my regent. Do not make it more difficult than it has to be. If I go now, I can catch him before he goes over the mountains. Please do not curse me”. “Why does this matter to you so much!? You have three other suitors who are wild for you and do not seem to have the mere thought of deserting you. Why him?”  
“I have reopened the wound that we share in the worst possible way. I cursed his name and said wretched things about he and his nation. If I do not go now I fear he will bring war upon us. He threatened so”. Jim is taken aback but he can see that I will not give in.  
“Very well. You have my blessing, but you are not back by first light I will send a search party” he threatens. I throw my arms around him. “Go now. Hurry. The sky may open back up at any second”.  
I comply without a backward glance.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovies! This one is a bit late judging by my previous standards, I know, but it's because I got a new job! On top of that, ya girl is finally getting her ducks in a row to go back to school. I'm going to be a psychologist (leaning towards forensic, family, or addiction counseling) so it'll be a long haul, but it'll be worth it. I regret to tell you all that there will continue to be multi day gaps between chapters especially after the holidays, but have no fear.The mob of characters in my head won't allow me to 'forget myself' nor them, so no worries. This work WILL NOT BE getting discontinued! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, pardon my garbage formatting, and all that fun stuff. (Note: my job is close to my house so I am posting this on the fly during my lunch hour. Please excuse any dumb mistakes that auto correct played me with and I didn't catch)
> 
> Enjoy :)

VII.  
To say that Lord May is having a bad night would be a bit of an understatement. First he could not locate Sir Hannaford to procure a horse after his conversation with Jim so he’d had to commit the low act of stealing one. Second, as if God himself were frowning upon what he was fast believing as his cowardice, the damned horse cast a shoe, and the only place he knew of to get it fixed that did not involve that wretched Queen Rose was to Father Tom’s village. 

Once there he had accosted the kindly old priest and been led to the scholar he was told about upon his first visit, Sir Francis Stafford. This was where the third problem came in, for Stafford lived in a glorified manor house that he insisted was a castle with three daughters and a very amorous, very pregnant wife. His third problem is currently occuring as Lady Stafford simpers at him across the ornately carved dining room table. 

There can be no escape for him until dawn when his horse is good to go and the dreadful Taurean rain ceases. Brian is essentially trapped. “More ale, my Lord?” She nearly purrs. Francis looks between them in amusement, raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘I told you so’. “No thank you”, he says quickly. “I was actually wondering about being shown to my quarters? I’ve had a long day and I am quite tired”. 

Lady Stafford frowns. “Surely you can not retire to bed yet! You’ve only just gotten here” she pouts. Is it just him or is he imagining the fact that she’s pushing her wife’s kerchief back on her head to expose the vivid red of her hairline? Yesterday he’d heard Sir Francis boasting that only the most loyal of women sported them here and his Anne was a rare, pure jewel. Brian suppresses a grimace. Why doesn’t Francis do something? “There are so many other things I would like to know. How to use an astrolabe for one!”   
“I am an astronomer, my sweet Anne, and whenever I attempt to show you you become so frustrated you nearly throw it” her husband reminds her. “Perhaps it is best that I don’t” he hedges. Not wanting to be completely rude, he rummages through the bag he’s been wearing strapped across him until he finds what he’s looking for.   
He smooths the scroll containing the elaborate diagram on the table between them. Lady Stafford squints curiously at it. “Whatever is this? I see that it has twenty four hours around the edges here”- she traps the thickly sketched numbers on the outside - “But why the astrological signs? Do not tell me that you dabble in witchcraft!” All of the barely concealed lust drains from her eyes at the prospect. “Of course not, dear. Lord May is a scholar, not a sorcerer” Francis assures her. “And astrology is not witchcraft” Brian sniffs, affronted. People always assumed that things they had no understanding of were witchcraft! “It is an astrological clock: it tells you what planets are where within the zodiac at a given time. I plan to commission it in blue and gold. I have plenty back home”.

Another deluge of rain pelts against the glazed windows, making them all jump. “I am afraid that I must retire now. I thank you for your hospitality, Frank”. This time he refuses to be put off no matter how much ale that they offer him, but when Francis suggests that Anne is the one to lead him to the bedchamber he violently wishes he had chosen to stay at the table and drink instead.

***  
“Your Majesty, if I may speak freely…?” Mark, the captain of my guard hedges. We are riding at a snail’s pace through the rain through the ruins of the elaborate tent city I’d had set up due to this dreadful rain and it is so heavy that it’s beginning to pool and drip through the canopy of state he is holding above me.  
“Might as well” I grunt noncommittally. How many times had we ridden this circuit sweeping from the quayside (nothing there as the Monrovian vessel is still docked) through the tent field and forests and then back? Five? Six? I have lost count; the chill is soaking right through these thin riding clothes of Lord Mercury’s. How does he bear to ride in them? My hat has been torn off my head and is most likely snagged on a thornbush in the forest somewhere. “We should turn back. We are catching our deaths out here and it does Taured no favors if her Queen is too sick to rule”.  
But what else can I do? If I give up Taured is quite possibly doomed. There is also another reason that I am doing this, a small one but expanding with every circuit that we make: I feel guilty. Horrendously so. I have not treated anyone else the way I had treated him, therefore he was right: I was prejudiced. Prejudiced! If I let him go then he is right - that I cannot bear. 

Through the copse of trees, I can see Tom’s parish. The windows are ablaze with torches. Every cell in my body aches to be warm. “Very well”, I sigh. “We will wait out the storm in the parish. Ride ahead and tell His Excellency we are stopping in for a visit” I sigh.   
Jim’s words play themselves in my head again: ‘Why go through so much trouble for someone who would dare to leave you when you have three men here who would never dream of it?’ What if, after all of this, he rejects me? What then? I will go mad if I continue to think of it.   
Tom, bless him, is waiting for us in the doorway of the parish in a halo of yellow torchlight. I nearly leap off of my horse and over to him. “We meet again, Your Majesty” he exclaims happily, ushering me in. 

The front room is small and cozy, laid with elaborate thick rugs and dominated by a massive carved oak dining table. A massive fire roars comfortingly in the fireplace and I sink down gratefully next to it to bask in the warmth.   
Mark and the other men hover warily. “Stop that. I am perfectly well” I grumble. Tom cuts off my view my reaching down to serve me mulled wine. “So you’ll keep warm” he explains. I gulp it eagerly, savoring the sweet warmth. “I shall have to have a word with that sweetheart of yours” The Father suddenly chides. I am abruptly uneasy. 

“Sweetheart?” I echo. What could any of them have possibly done to offend him? “Yes. He should not have left you to fend for yourself in such a storm. It is most unchristian” he says with a frown. I erupt to my feet so fast that he backs up a few steps in alarm. He means Lord May, I am sure of it! 

“Describe him!” I command. “The tall fellow. Wild dark hair, fancies himself an astronomer. A bit of a loner but smarter than a lot of learned men that I know. Lord something or other…” he trails off, trying to remember. I have to resist the urge to take him up by the front of his nightshirt. “Where did he go? How long ago did you see him?”   
“His horse had cast a shoe so I sent him down the lane to Sir Stafford’s castle” he informs me, bewildered but willing. Thank every deity in existence, he has not left Tauren soil yet. I open the door and a gust of wind makes it bang ominously against the wall. “I shall be back with him!” I call over my shoulder. I do not even wait for them to respond. A sudden burst of rage propels me out to the stables lightning quick. There will be no escaping me without an explanation this time!  
***  
“That does it!” Prince Meddow’s hand comes down hard on the table, rattling the playing cards and die scattered across it. “I am going to see what ails her!” He has had enough of being patient and accosting pretty women with a dance or song on the lute to see if they know something of her condition. King John sticks out a leg to block his exit. “Come now, Roger, it’s only been a few hours! She probably ate something that gave her a gripe in the belly. Your worries are too great”. “Oh, let him go, Deacon. We are all perishing of boredom - I at least, tire of winning all of your gold” he smugly holds the velvet bag containing his loot aloft and gives it a shake. John’s expression darkens at the impropriety. “Deacon?” He echoes. No one had ever dared to address him as such in his life! He has always been “your grace”, “your highness”, and more recently “your majesty”.  
“That’s your name, isn’t it dear? Though I do think it’s a bit of a mouthful myself. We should shorten it. I shall call you...Deaky!” Freddie brightens at the prospect. He has never had friends that he felt were true apart from one glaring exception he cannot bear to think about at the moment. Roger snickers at the King’s flummoxed expression. “Deaky? I shall be His Majesty, King Deaky of Sacria!?” He challenges. Roger and Freddie tense; John bursts into a roar of laughter. “Very well, but only between us” he amends. Freddie’s eye gleam as he turns to Prince of Laxaria. “Rog” he says shortly. “I have many a sweetheart who hail me that already” he boasts.  
John raises an eyebrow, motioning for more wine for the table. “Oh?” “Come now, Deaky, you surely have had a sweetheart before!” Freddie explodes. Their counterpart’s face is suddenly thoughtful in the candlelight. “No”, Gasps Roger once the servers have retreated, “No, it cannot be! You have never had a sweetheart? Never taken a lover?” John flushes. “I have taken lovers before! More than you know” he replies defensively. “Name two” Freddie demands.  
“Sacrians do not kiss and tell” Sniffs their newfound King. “Oh, toll loll, it is just us lads! I will not tell. Roger will keep that great mouth of his shut. Won’t you, Rog?” Roger nods eagerly.

“Swear of it?” John presses. His companions nearly come out of their velvet upholstered seats in anticipation. “Very well...you see, at one point in time during my youth, I hoped to have a brother. I wished to relinquish the crown to him and go into the church. But then I met a Lady Veronica and...things changed” he finishes hurriedly. Roger throws a grape at him. “You must give us more than that! Did you have her?” “What does that matter?” Freddie chuckles at his dark haired friend’s blush. “Oh, do not press it. It is clear that he has - he’s colored up like a stain glazed window! Let me tell you of my lovers!” John is immensely grateful for the distraction.

“Before we get into that endless list, I must present a query: have any of you seen that Mayflower fellow about this evening?” Roger suddenly wants to know. It has been eating at him for hours now. What if Rose, his beautiful Rose, has flitted off to his chambers?  
Jealousy seizes him anew. “No, not since this morning. I assumed Monrovians were just solitary people. He is a scholar, after all” Freddie says. “As am I! Yet here I sit with you simpletons, gambling my savings away” John groans. “Simpleton? I’ll have you know I studied alongside physicians and were I not a Prince, I would be one!” Roger grumbles. “We should send a messenger to his chambers, invite him to play with us. We do not want him to think us inconsiderate” Freddie suggests. John nods his approval. “Yes, lets. If he is not within them then we can worry after the Queen’s whereabouts”. Roger scowls at the assumption. “Surely you do not mean she cuckolds us?” “Darling, we cannot be cuckolded if we are not betrothed or bound in matrimony. Until she makes a choice, we are as friends” Freddie informs them. Suddenly, John does not want to gamble anymore. 

***  
“You? The Queen of Taured?” The guard stationed outside of the door snorts a laugh. I had tried to stride into the manor house - calling this meager stone structure a castle is laughable - but had been accosted by this man. He is noticeably clad in purple livery, the color of royalty, which I pretend not to notice. “Have you never looked upon your sovereign before?” My voice rings with dignity though I am clad in torn, dirty clothing that clings like a second skin. My hair is a dark cloud of chaos due this dreadful rain. Can I blame him for thinking me false? 

“My lady, you yourself would not know the sovereign if she were standing next to you at this moment. Pray you return from whence you came before I use force to remove you” he threatens. 

“Now, see this!” I thrust my right hand in his face - on my third finger there is a signet ring bearing an engravement of Taured’s famed yellow roses. Only members of the court or nobility themselves have them. The man laughs again, slapping my hand away. “D’you think I am unaware of false rings being forged or rings being stolen? I will quarrel with you no longer!” He surges forward and pins my hands behind my back to march me out of the courtyard. A door swings open to the side of us. 

“Stop!” Someone cries. “She speaks no false coin! This woman is indeed the Queen of Taured!” Francis! Oh, thank the Gods! “Unhand me!” I add for good measure. He nearly flings me at my rescuing Lord. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty!” He begs. His bow is so deep that he nearly touches the ground. I ignore him and flounce into the house. Sir Stafford shuts the door behind me. “I am sorry I am not more prepared to receive you! To what do I owe this great honor?” He wants to know. A low fire is burning in the fireplace and there are half drank cups of ale on the low table in front of it, along with something gold that winks faintly in the dim light. Ah! An astrolabe!   
“I shall like to have a word with your guest” I bite out between my teeth. I shall wring his skinny neck when I see him. 

“As you wish, your Grace. He is in the chamber up the stairs on the right”. Curiosity burns behind his politeness but I have no patience to explain. I am at the door and knocking in a flash. “Open this door, by order of the Queen!” I command. At once, the heavy wooden door creaks open. And there he is, clad in worn trousers and a faded white shirt unlaced to reveal a good portion of his chest. I force myself to look him in the eye. 

“Lord Brian May of Monrovia, I ought to have you flogged for insolence! How dare you leave my court without permission?” I hiss, pushing my way inside. It is a great deal warmer in here than downstairs but it does little to quell my rage. He does not speak. “Well? Answer me!” “Why are you here?” He wants to know. His eyes widen when he takes in my attire, lingering on the trousers I’ve dared to put on. 

Every apology and explanation I had planned suddenly drains away. “You stole my horse” I manage lamely. I am suddenly so weary I can hardly stand. I sink down onto the stone floor near the fire to keep warm. Brian strides over to the narrow bed, grabs the coverlet, and flings it about my shoulders.

“There,” he says before he sinks down to join me. “I do apologize about that, Your Majesty. But with all due respect, you told me to leave your country yesterday. You spurned my gift. I was merely following orders”. A fresh wave of guilt washes over me. “Then it is I who owes you the apology. I owe you a thousand of them. I am sorry, Lord May. I humbly beseech you to forgive me”. 

He shakes his head slowly. “I think it is better if we part as friends. The past seems too great to overcome”. For you, he implies, but does not say. Shame seizes me. “Does it not affect you too? Were you not vexed with me upon our first meeting? Is your heart not sore?” I nearly cry. “I have not been truly merry in my heart since her loss. She was the closest thing to me and”- I know what he is about to say. 

“You move to blame Taured’s Queen for her loss yet it was you who extolled choice at the banquet yesterday!” I accuse. Brian runs a slender hand over his face. “You are right. I did say that. I was cruel to you” he admits. “And?” I urge. He shifts till he is by my side and wraps an arm around me, pulling me against his side. I try to pull away. “I mean only to warm you. You are trembling”. 

“I am perfectly warm” I lie, though I’d rather him throw me into the flames before us than move an inch. He is wonderfully warm, deliciously warm, so much so that I have to resist the urge to fall against his chest. Idly, I wonder if his great mass of curls is as soft as it looks. Then I realize: “You answered my question not”. His hazel eyes dance with amusement. “You forget nothing”. “A Queen never does. You speak about choice yet…” somehow I cannot find the words. 

“Yet we make the ones of our fathers to be natural born enemies, it seems” he finishes for me. I stare at an imperfection on the stone floor so I do not have to gaze upon him. “Perhaps we should not bear enmity towards one another” I murmur. After all, he was not the one who drove our Mothers to their deaths. They had chosen themselves to jump. Had chosen to take themselves from us without a second thought. The realization makes my heart ache anew. 

To my surprise, he gives me a little squeeze. I give him a shocked look. “This troubles your countenance” he notes. “It is not you…it is just that…no. I dare not” I hedge. “Rose” - the use of my first name startles me - “If we are to put this sordid business behind us we need to speak of it” he prods. “We were not enough - I, you, our nations, our fathers...nothing. It afflicts me greatly sometimes, the way she did not stop to think of me before leaving. The way she will not give me away at my next wedding. I love her but sometimes I hate her so much I cannot breathe when I think of what she put us through!” It bursts forward in a scathing flood of truth. 

In Taured the mothers bind the brides to their husbands or wives during the wedding ceremonies with the typing of a silk cord. Nan will have to stand in for mine again. Tears suddenly blur my vision. It has been years since I have cried over her but talking about it somehow makes it fresh, especially to someone who will understand this heart sickness. “Rose…” he does not know what to say. “Sometimes it aches as if it were yesterday…” 

I turn my face into his chest so he will not see me cry like a spurned milkmaid. I have always been an emotional weeper but loathe being looked upon while I do. Normally I order my guards away then bolt my chamber doors but tonight I lack that luxury. I feel him stiffen for a moment in shock and then his arms encircle me. 

“It aches for me as well. You are not alone in your grief. My mother treated me like a full blooded royal son. I never had to prove myself to her. She taught me to study the heavens and of the world’s ways. I have mostly abandoned anger as it does neither of us any good. But I do feel sadness. Still, I should not have taken it out on you! Look what’s become of you - crying the in the arms of an enemy…” He looks down at me with a slight smile so I know he jests.

“What’s become of I? Who stole from whom?” I want to know.   
Brian shifts guiltily. “I did not wish to make a spectacle of myself”. “It is a bit late for that” I snort. We lapse into companionable silence, watching the flames crackle in the hearth. Somehow it is okay not to fill the air with meaningless phrases. I also note that I am strangely comfortable in his arms. He has not asked me to move so I do not intend to. If anyone were to walk in they would assume we were - what was the word that Tom had used? Sweethearts? 

He wordlessly strokes his fingers through my hair to give it a semblance of order, occasionally grunting to himself when he encounters a snag. I am near to dozing when he says my name. “Rose?” “Yes?” “You never asked me to come back to court” he reminds me. I give him a basilisk glare. “Please return to court, Lord May. I fear my heart will die without you”. Facetiousness drips from my tone. He stands to his feet, then helps me to mine.   
“Very well. Lead the way. But before you make a public appearance I have one suggestion” he says. I regard him warily. “What?” “Have the royal barber shave your head” he advises. I throw the coverlet at him. 

***  
About midday the next morning, Lord Mercury is accosted by a page as he is playing at bowls in the garden with William, Jim, and a phalanx of admirers. “You’ve been summoned” the man tells him. Freddie raises his eyebrows. “By?” They never do things this way in Lisboa. “Her Majesty the Queen. Follow me”. Without waiting for his assent the page begins to stalk back towards the palace. Roger and John meet his eyes, a question in theirs. Freddie trips along behind the messenger to the Queen’s presence chamber. 

She looks much better this morning. Gone is the pale, stressed pallor from last night. Her skin is still slightly flushed from the heat of her bath, her hair in an elegant twist on the back of her neck, and her gown is a lovely shade of lavender. She smiles when he is presented. “Lord Mercury, I thought we could spend the day together today” Rose says. His heart leaps in his chest. “I thought you’d never ask, dear” he replies breezily. Inside, however, he is chaotic. He never dreamed that he would be first in this series of outings! 

Whatever would they do!? Then he remembers: the barges! “Would you like to go sailing with me today, your majesty? There is a fair wind about”. A small part of him wants her to say no so that he can have more time to refine his plan, but of course she does not. “That sounds wonderful. Shall we go now?” She checks. No! He wants to shout. He cannot stand what he must do! He cannot stand himself! He cannot stand to break another heart! 

Aloud, he proclaims that there is no time like the present. Oh, Freddie cannot stand this! How could he have possibly thought that his past would not haunt him here? His nerves keep him nearly silent through the horseback ride to the river where his barge is still docked from the races yesterday. He can only bring himself to speak when spoken to. Rose notices this, shooting him curious sidelong glances as they’re jolted about.   
All too soon, they reach the riverbank. His men have ridden ahead to prepare the vessel so all they must do is disembark their beasts and board. 

“Freddie, can we speak below decks for a moment?” Asks the Queen. She knows! He frets. Of course she knows! How couldn’t she know? She had retreated from dinner last night out of disgust for him, he just knows it. “Of course. Cast off” he calls over his shoulder before leading her down into the luxurious dimness. She marvels at the leaded windows with a view and the carpeted floors heaped with cushions. 

“Please sit here with me, Rose” he says, gesturing to the cushion directly in front of the little window. At the very least he can gaze upon the sun twinkling on the river instead of her face when he makes his admission. Bewildered but willing, she complies. “Lord Mercury, you must tell me what is on your mind. I cannot bear this oddness any longer” she tells him. 

It feels as if his stomach will drop to his ankles and out through the bottom of the ship. “I want...I need...I have to ask you…” so many different ways there are to begin the end but none seem to fit. To his surprise, she laughs. “Oh, Freddie, I know what you mean to tell me: you fancy Lord Hutton. I cannot say I blame you. He is a nice looking fellow”. The mention of his feelings brings him up short. 

“You know?” He echoes, outraged. “I cannot imagine that there is a soul who does not” she confirms. Freddie groans. “That does not mean that I do not fancy you! I fancy you a great deal. So much so that…” Oh, he cannot do it. Rose clasps his hands to stop him from wringing them. “Speak freely, Freddie. Please” she pleads. 

“I...know why the Princess Mary comes to Taured to seek you. I am in danger, your Grace” The Lisboan Lord finally admits. She seems troubled by this. “How so?” Everything he has built upon Taurean soil is about to be torn asunder. 

“I left Lisboa to avoid being hanged for my attractions”. He hangs his head in shame. “Attractions?” Is she determined to make him say it. “To men”. Rose gives his hands a squeeze. “Then I will harbor you. You are safe with me” She promises. “You would harbor me knowing this?” He demands, shocked. “Yes! How can that even be a question, Lord Mercury? Everyone is welcome in Taured” she assures him. 

“Everyone?” “Yes” she insists. Then she realizes: “there is more”. Freddie nods miserably. “You would harbor someone who shirks their duties?” He presses. “Duties? Speak plainly!” Now she is starting to get as nervous as he is. 

He rises to sink to his knees in preparation of what he must do: throw himself on her mercy. “I left Lisboa to escape my betrothed, Your Majesty, and that is the Princess Mary of Montori. She will come down upon your head because of me, for the penalty in Lisboa and Montori for the unlawful breaking of a betrothal is death. I am damned on both sides”.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dears! I know it's been a while but I am back and better than ever. A few things before we begin: 1) Sexuality is FLUID and labels might not not affix to every person on it or the gender spectrum. Being panromantic is a thing (trust your local pansexual on this one) as is being caught in the heat of the moment, which leads me to my next point. 2) It is going to get a liiiiittle sexy from here on out but I will let you all know beforehand in the notes. Most likely it won't surpass PG-13. 3) No, Mary is not the villain nor am I demonizing her or minimizing her as a brokenhearted damsel in distress. Go away in advance with that lol. 4) Lastly, enjoy yourselves! Comments and kudos are appreciated but I have one rule: keep it cute or keep it to yourself. Happy Holidays and happy reading!

VIII.

All I can do is stare at him and wait for the punchline. “Surely you jest”, I finally manage. “And it is not a funny one. Rise up, Lord Mercury”. But he does not move and the devastation in his dark eyes does not lessen. “Lord Mercury. Please” I try again. He hangs his head in shame, dark hair falling on both sides of his face to form a curtain. I slip my hands from his and take a step back. No. No, it cannot be so! All men surely cannot be so cruel nor so disappointing! Not this man! Hurt pierces me from all sides. My legs give and I slide unsteadily onto one of the many velvet cushions surrounding us. “Lord Mercury…” This time the words are tinged with my dismay. Freddie’s head snaps up.

“No, dearest, call me Freddie. I am Freddie and you are my Rose. My beloved Rose” he nearly cries. He rises to sit next to me. When he reaches for me again, I jerk away. “I am your beloved nothing! I cannot be, for you are the beloved of another!” I shout. How fond I am of him! It robs me of breath to realize how much. “I love her not” he insists. Rage propels me to my feet. “Then you are a scoundrel and a liar twice over!” I declare. 

“Do you think I know that not? Do you think I do not rise every day confronted with the fact that I am not only those things but a sodomite as well, madam? D’you think that this is a happy existence for me and I crave to deceive you and everyone else!?” His shriek is deafening in the small confines of the ship’s cabin. The anguish in it brings me up short, as does the offensive term. I reflexively recoil.

“Everyday I had to hear it! Yes, everyday, about how I bring my family shame and must never inherit! I, too, am a Prince but have been stripped of my title and reduced to a lowly Lord and robbed of my birthright. I am given the scantest of lands! My tenants must be threatened into paying me rent for they do not take me seriously. They mock everything about me: my appearance, my manner of speech, and they even doubt my parentage. They say ‘the Lisboan King and Queen surely could not have sired such an ostentatious sinner’. And my father - my own flesh and blood - calls me an abomination. I am mocked. I am othered. Taured is the only accepting nation of those like myself and now...now...you recoil from me as if I am a leper!” He wails.   
I have never seen anyone cry so deeply. My arms ache to reach out to him. “I recoiled because you bore me false coin and it pains me, not because you repulse me. Freddie, you have grieved me greatly and shame the Princess Mary but you are not at all what those horrid people say” I tell him. He moves to stand and for an awful moment, I think he will pull out the dagger in his scabbard and run himself through. I grasp his red silk sheathed arm in desperation. He violently tries to shake me off. “Peace, Freddie! Peace, by order of the Queen!” I shout over his heart wrenched cries. What if he is in so much despair that he throws himself into the river?

As if to answer my thoughts, the barge cants violently to the left then straightens up with a jerk. We are passing over dangerous white waters; rivulets trickle in down the plushly carpeted stairs. Have we managed to sail into a storm of some sort? The next jolt is so violent that it flings us against the wooden paneling. Freddie abruptly stops struggling. “I am the cause of this. God means to punish me” he moans. Hot tears soak the front of my gown. God’s blood, was this how terrified and bewildered poor Lord May felt when I’d flung myself upon him last night? I tighten my arms around him. “Freddie, Freddie, my dearest Freddie! Please do not weep so! It will be alright” I cry out over the din of the roaring waves and sudden thunder. Rain like liquid diamonds trickles down the portholes.

“No”, he growls through his tears. “No, it will not be all right. I will have to go to Montori and live a dog’s life with their Princess because I cannot love her in the way that she deserves. She resents me so much for it now. We used to be so close but now...oh, I cannot bear it!” His sobs start up once more. “I am sorry for it” I reply grimly. Freddie raises his head. “Is that it, then? You will simply release me into her custody?” he croaks. “What else can I do? You cannot propose marriage to me even in theory if you are already betrothed. The law bars it” I explain. “The law forbids my very existence” Freddie counters hotly.

“Not in Taured, it does not! Every man deserves to exist no matter who he loves!” He becomes eerily calm. “You really mean that?” He murmurs. I am not sure where he is going with this. “Yes…” My answer is cautious. “And you call me dearest, so I am dear to you?” he checks. I nod warily. Freddie seizes my shoulders. “Then save me! Save me from a loveless, miserable life! Only you have this power, Rose, and you must use it!” He barks. “I cannot meddle in the affairs of nations in which I have no authority. I cannot order your betrothal put aside, Freddie. See sense!” I insist. The depths of his dark eyes gleam with determination.  
“No”, he agrees, “You cannot. But what you can do is render it void”.  
I narrow my eyes. “Meaning?” He sweeps my hands into his hot grasp again. “Meaning that you could be my wife, Rose. If we wed the two of us will be safe forever more. I need no coronation - I can be a fair, judicious King Consort and husband for all of our remaining days. Choose me” he implores desperately. My head whirls at the prospect. How can he possibly know what is fast becoming one of my greatest wishes nearly word for word? I try to picture it: Freddie in the robes of state upon the throne, entertaining the court and foreign dignitaries, waking up next to me in the royal bed and giving me that smile of his the sets the world on fire when he chooses to reveal it.

Mary’s face, crumpled in pain, springs into my mind, unbidden. Then, there is an issue that is growing more important by the day. “What of an heir? You cannot love me truly as required for us to sire one. In order to do that the two of us must have a true, honest love between us in addition to pleasure from both parties. I cannot provide you true bliss”. His dark eyes burn so intensely into mine that it takes my breath away. “I can provide it to you” he promises. Before I can command that he elaborate he pulls me to him and crushes his mouth against mine without warning.

His kiss is hot, urgent, and insistent. George has never dared to kiss me with such abandon before. In fact, I do not think he was capable of such passion at all. My arms twine about his neck of their own accord to strain him closer to me. Despite everything I am kissing him back and actually enjoying it. Everything - him being promised to another, his anguish, my desire not to lose him - falls by the wayside as he lays me back gently upon the cushions. His mouth leaves mine and travels eagerly down my neck, making me shiver in anticipation. I shiver when his teeth graze the tender skin of my breast. “Wait!” I gasp. His hands still on the laces of my stomacher. “Not on my account” he breathes. “I thought…” Oh, I cannot say it! Not now when my heart is threatening to pound through my chest and I am dizzy with sudden desire!

“Can a man not find joy in more than one type of lover as you do?” The Lisboan Lord demands. “Oh” I blush at my assumption, though he had used that wretched word to describe himself as he cried. “No one believes that a person can experience desire fluidly or that both sexes can delight a man and right now you”- he places special emphasis on the word - “Delight me. Shall I show you just how much?” For a brief, wild moment I want to say yes. For him to take me right here below decks in earshot of everyone like a country couple being careless in a hayloft.

With a sigh, I motion for him to move from me and struggle into a sitting position with a sigh. I am shameful: my headdress is askew, petals littering the seats, and my gown is rumpled. I close my eyes and fight to control my racing pulse. “I cannot lay with a man promised to another” I say to myself more than him. Freddie flops down beside me with a groan. “You were certainly content enough to kiss him” he comments archly. I laugh shakily. “My apologies. I did not mean to mislead you when I returned your kiss”. “So that’s it, then? There is no hope of you being my wife despite the way we make one another feel?” He seems saddened at the prospect. “No”, I suddenly decide.

“We must not confuse the madness of desire for love. You are more than welcome to remain in Taured - I will even give you a place at court if you wish it. However, you must break your own betrothal” I stipulate. He pinches the bridge of his nose in distress. “Lisboan and Montorian parents arrange these matters and it is them who must dissolve these things. Neither party ever will!” Freddie stresses. I give him an apologetic look.

“Never, then, even after everything is settled? I am never to be your lover?” He presses. My rapidly cooling blood threatens to ignite anew at the suggestion. No one has ever expressed such passion towards me and if it is always like this I shall always want more and more of it...but from someone who can love me for myself. “I cannot run the risk of being sold false coin in matters diplomatic and of the heart. I am sorry, Lord Mercury. Truly” I say. It grieves me greatly that I have to let him go. The pretty picture of us hands clasped upon the throne has no choice but to fade into nothingness.

***  
“Point!” Roger cries out exultantly, striking out with his racquet. The little ball sails swiftly over the net. Brian lunges for it with a grunt but it is too late. The cursed thing smashes against the stone wall behind him. “Bollocks!” he curses in Monrovian. “Yes!” Roger crows. “Roger, you cannot declare a point until you’ve actually earned it. Go easy on the lad!” John, their referee, orders from his chair in the shade beneath the Sacrian canopy of state. “ ‘The lad’ is right here” Brian grumbles. This morning before the sun crossed the middle of the sky the two men had accosted him, banging on his chamber door and bawling that they ‘must get to know one another’. Roger, the showy blonde, had announced that they were going to play at tennis in the courtyard since it was Lord Mercury’s day with the Queen and the dark haired, quitely dignified one, suggested that he join them. When Brian had let it slip that he had never played the newfangled sport because it had not yet reached Monrovia they had insisted upon teaching him.

“I am utter shit at this” Brian sighs. “Everyone is utter shit against me! I am the King of Tennis in Laxaria!” Roger boasts. John leaps down nimbly and extends a hand for the Prince’s racquet. “Well then, you will not mind sitting this round out, will you, your majesty?” he asks. Roger gives it over and bounds to the sidelines to take a seat. “Don’t worry, Deaky will go easy on you!” He calls. John freezes in distress. Of course, Freddie’s dreadful nickname would catch on! Brian presses his lips together to keep from smiling. “Deaky? Deaky for Deacon?” he echoes, a smile breaking through his control.

“Yes”, The Sacrian King sighs, “I am His Majesty, King Deaky of Sacria!” The declaration is laced with so much bitterness that they all double over laughing. “It is Lord Mercury’s doing - he likes to dispense nicknames. I, myself, am Rog, and since he is not here, I shall give you one myself” He pauses for a moment to think. “Bri” He decides. Brian grimaces. “Very original”. “No, I like it! It has a certain ring to it” says John. He holds the ball aloft. “Now, let us see how original you are on the court”. In the end, a sudden storm renders their game unplayable and tosses Roger’s picnic lunch plans by the wayside. Still he insists upon eating lunch together and somehow, Brian’s own chambers are selected to be the place.

He concedes graciously, though what he really wants is a hot bath, an even hotter meal, and a long nap. “I so loathe this rain. I did not think it would be so frequent in Taured” Roger pouts, glaring at the it sheeting down the glazed windows. Wind howls in trees outside, flinging leaves and debris against them. “What a dreadful day to sail” John remarks. He hates to think of the poor Queen being tossed about on the river in that showy Lisboan barge. However will they all manage? Fear also seizes him: what if they are run aground?

“They took to the water in this weather?” Brian demands incredulously. “Yes. It was nice enough before” Answers John, plucking a piece of shattock off of the Monrovian Lord’s pewter plate. He pops it into his mouth expectantly. Bitterness like he’s never experienced before explodes onto his tongue. “God’s death! This is dreadful!” he sputters. Roger snorts a laugh. “Serves you right for picking off of the plate of another” Brian sniffs. “I now see why they call it ‘the forbidden fruit’ - it should be outlawed. I shall have it outlawed on Sacrian soil!” John rants. While the two go back and forth, Roger lets his mind wander.

He wishes that Rose, his Rose, had chosen him first. Why had she not? The thought of her clasping his hands, twirling gracefully, and smiling as she gracefully executed the dance steps of his homeland makes him ache. How is he good enough to dance with but not good enough to choose first? What does Lord Mercury have that he does not? He pushes his plate of fruit away, suddenly not hungry anymore. This is madness - he is the Prince of Laxaria. His roguish handsomeness and prowess in the bedchamber is known by many nations. Scores of women adore him and scores of women he has had. So why does his fancy for this one trouble him so?  
“What do you think they are doing now?” He asks aloud, unable to stop himself. “Cursing one another for ever having thought of undertaking such an outing so close to last night’s storms, I imagine” quips Brian. “Does it not bother you at all?” Roger bursts out desperately. “Peace, Roger. I am sure they are perfectly well” Soothes John. He reaches for the silver ewer and pours more wine for them all, waving off the attendants who step forward to do it first. Brian takes a hearty sip before answering. “It is not only the storm that troubles you”. It isn’t a question. “How can it not trouble either of you? How can you bear to just let her sail off with another?” 

“Does the woman have no free agency unless you wish it?” Johns answer is more forceful than he thought he was capable of. “We will get our days with her soon enough, friend. Yours may very well be tomorrow” Brian replies gently, shooting the Sacrian King a warning look. Laxarian nobility are notorious for their tempers. Once, his Father had invited a Laxarian Viscount for a feat and the fellow had perceived a slight over an offhand remark. He’d roared like a baited bear and overturned the entire banquet table before storming out of the great hall. It still makes Brian wince to think of. 

Storm clouds roll in over Roger’s expression but he thankfully lets it drop. He nods to the mother of pearl inlaid lute leaning against the window seat nearest to him. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and play us a tune?” he asks gruffly. Brian rolls his eyes. “Is that how your Mother taught you to ask for things?” “I would very much like to hear you play, Lord May. It will soothe out countenances” John coaxes. “Very well”. Brian rises and grabs the instrument to comply, filling the room with an air that has both men tapping their feet in tune. They burst into applause when he finishes. “Another! Another!” Roger insists at once. The curly haired Lord flushes with pride. “You enjoyed it?” “Yes, yes. Very much! Please play us another. I will accompany you if you wish” John promises. And so began the habit of their passing the time together by playing music.

***

Lord Mercury and I can hardly bear to look upon one another for the rest of our outing or on the way back to the palace. As soon as we pull into the stable yard he is out of the carriage like a bullet from a gun, walking so briskly he nearly knocks Jim, who is waiting for us there, over. Jim’s eyes are the size of dinner plates as he helps me down. “What in the name of Heaven have you done to him?” he demands, only half joking. I cannot stop the color from blooming in my cheeks. “Oh, Jim, I fear the both of us have badly wounded one another. I”- I begin, but he holds a hand aloft to cut me off. I gape at him in outrage.

“I am sorry, your Majesty, but I have come to fetch you myself because the Grand Council wishes the have a word with you” he informs me. “They convene without my consent?” Fear springs even into Jim’s eyes at my tone. “Aye. They are waiting for you in your privy chamber”. I stalk inside so quickly that he needs to nearly sprint to catch up. “What is it that they want?” I ask severely. “I know it not. Please, do not go in with cannons blazing. Be reasonable. They only want what is best for you, for Taured” he tells me. “This is over the line”, I hiss as I storm up the narrow back stairs to my chamber. “I did not summon a single one of them. Do they not know that the law bars them from entering the room of their sovereign? If not I shall fine them so greatly they will never forget it!” I storm past the herald and fling the door to my privy chamber open to reveal the five Lords in various poses of relaxation behind a great mahogany desk they have ordered dragged into my sitting room.

“What is the meaning of this?” I gesture furiously to the great scroll before them on the table and at the various attendants they have hovering about them. “Out!” I snap. Rage does not even begin to cover how I am feeling. This is the ultimate disrespect! Servants file out, eyes downcast. “Not you!” Jim freezes by the door, caught. “You are my most trust advisor, Lord Hutton. Pray you, stay” I try to make it sound sweet but it still comes out sounding like a command. Jim glumly slinks to my side. “Please pardon us for intruding upon you, your Majesty, but we have been sending messengers for days without response” says Lord Cecil.

“We received no man nor summons or we would’ve sent a reply” Jim pipes up. Count Henry cuts an eye at him. “Yes, he can speak on my behalf. Someone must. Now what is it that you all want?” I demand. Benjamin Stafford, the fair haired brother of Sir Francis, deems to answer. “Forgive me for saying so, your Grace, but it has been nearly a week since the arrival of the suitors and we are...seeing no progress” He cannot bring himself to meet my eyes at the end. “As it has been nearly a week. Surely you all we not under the impression that I could choose so soon?” I ask. “Your Majesty, this is not just your choice, but also a choice for Taured. It has been nearly three months without a King and the people grow restless. We need a King to enforce laws” Lord Cecil answers.  
“I have never heard such swill”. “Madam”- he begins impudently. “You dare to call me madam?” I interrupt. “You, Lord Cecil, have the nerve of a thousand men. All of you do. How dare you storm into my personal rooms as if you own them? You aim to control everything, especially the treasury and strings of the privy purse. Well, you’ll not control me!” “Please, my lady, we mean no harm nor to slight. Please, hear us. There are angry stirrings in the country because they do not think a woman is fit to sit on the throne alone. I am afraid…” Count Henry cannot bring himself to say it.

“Speak” I command. “I am afraid that if you do not choose a suitor by twelfth night at the very latest it will come to a rebellion” he informs me.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovies. It has been forever since I've posted a chapter because I got a new job and have been working 11 hours a day every day apart from Christmas. Exhausting has not even been the word. That being said, forgive me if this one is a bit short. And yes, the day out with our next suitor will happen in the next chapter, I promise! Onward to the story. Leave me comments and whatnot, I love to know what it is that you think. Chapter 10 is right around the corner and it only gets realer from there. Happy Holidays!

IX.

The moment that Lord Mercury is spotted trudging from the stables to the palace, the trio of newfound friends assembles in his chambers. “You’re sure he won’t mind me here?” Brian stage whispers for the hundredth time from his perch in the window embrasure. His fingers nervously strum a tune on his stringed instrument but somehow it still manages to sound good. Roger has to admit he’s impressed. “Oh no, our first morning here he stormed into mine while I was bathing to inquire about one of his silly cats! All will be well” John says, stroking the black and white silly cat in question who is perched on his lap like a Queen.

“He looked a bit upset coming in”, Roger muses aloud, “D’you think he had a quarrel with the Queen?” Undisguised glee at the aspect is evident in his tone. Even Delilah seems to give him a reproachful look. “I see, so everyone can voice their hopes in this chamber but me?” He demands. “Roger, that is most unkind to say” John chides. “And quarreling with a woman like that is a horror of all horrors” Brian recalls, shuddering at the memory. Quarreling in general he does not like unless it is absolutely necessary but his temper does take hold of him sometimes. 

“Your loss. I enjoy a passionate woman” Sniffs the Prince of Laxaria. There is a muted thud as the door to the privy chamber opens and then muffled voices. “Company? Oh, don’t be ridiculous. No” they hear Lord Mercury reply. A moment later the door to the bedchamber opens and the Lisboan Lord stalks through. “You!” He accosts them with a point of his index finger. Then his eyes light on the tall figure silhouetted against the window overlooking the courtyard. “Why, Lord Mayflower, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence!” he exclaims. Brian scowls. “It’s May” he corrects stiffly. Freddie thrusts a ruby beringed hand forward for him to shake. “Lord Mercury” he replies shortly. “Freddie” John warns from his perch on the bed. “Yes, do behave, Freddie. Bri is nice” Roger pipes up. Brian gives the extended hand a cautious shake. “Bri. Hmm. You may call me Freddie. At another time, though, I am afraid, for I want to be alone. I have had the most trying day” he announces, tossing his great scarlet hat into a corner. Oscar mewls his protests and scurries away from the projectile, prompting Freddie to pick him up.

“I am so sorry, my darling. Have you been hurt?” he coos. “What has happened?” Demands John. Freddie flops down next to him. “I am a loathe to talk about it. Go away. I wish to be alone”. Roger bristles at his tone. “Very well then. Sulk like a scorned milk maid. We shall go have fun elsewhere” he proclaims, motioning for the others to join him. Surprisingly, it is Brian who pauses in the doorway behind the others. “Come and talk to me if you wish. I am the fourth door on the right at the end of this great hall” he says. Before Freddie can respond he is gone.

***  
“Twelfth night”, I scoff again, “Do not be ridiculous. Have you any idea how close that is? The autumn solstice is today!” I rant to Nan as she dresses me for dinner. I wince as she pulls my laces too tight. “Ouch!” She flaps her hand at me. “Hush, child. You are the one who came upon me with a rip in the bodice. You cannot look such a fright before the court” she says. I glare at her even though my back is turned. “We are only dining in the garden tonight anyway” I grumble. 

Nan turns me so that I must face her. “For the autumnal equinox it you care to remember. It is officially harvest season now” she regards me oddly as if I have grown another head. Harvest season always begins on a true note of celebration in Taured because it is when things wind down for the year. Farmers who are afield constantly get to go inside to be with their families and some even are ordered palace positions or places of honor that I get to dispense. 

“I know”. Her dark eyes narrow. “Pray tell me how you acquired that tear again” she demands. My heart thumps unevenly. “I...fell” I manage quickly. Too quickly, apparently, because she shakes her head. “Old Nan was young too once, you know. You do not have to keep secrets from me. It’s alright if you’ve had a romp so long as no one saw” she whispers conspiratorially. 

“And if they did?” I test. To my surprise, she laughs. “Well then, my dear, you are the fool of all fools for not charging admission for it!” This makes me shriek a laugh and her double over. Every day I am thankful for Nan, though I do not tell her. There is a sudden knock on the bedchamber door that makes us straighten up at once. “Who goes there?” Nan calls out warily. 

A key turns in the lock and Jim pops his head in with a smile. “It is I, Lord James Hutton, here to escort her majesty to the celebrations!” He announces, then bows deeply at my feet and kisses my hand. “If I may, your majesty, I must tell you that you are the most heartbreakingly beautiful woman who shall ever attend any festivities” he tells me. My gown is unique tonight: it begins in deep purple, lightens to blue, then pink, then yellow, and finally creamy orange to represent the setting sun. A mantle of black velvet is thrown about my shoulders to keep me warm and I wear a crown of sapphires. King John’s pearl drop earrings dangle proudly from my ears as well. 

I pretend to eye Jim, resplendent in a merry yellow doublet, critically but fail. “We shall be the talk of the entire evening” I assure him, offering him my arm. He takes it gladly and we begin our journey, flanked by guards in front and behind us. Tonight the people will come to mingle, dine, and dance with the court so I have ordered extra precautions to be taken. Rebellion, Lord Cecil had said. How could it be so? 

Jim gives one of my earrings a little swing. “The others will be mad with jealousy over this” he predicts. Shame seizes me. He will be mad with jealousy or just plain mad when I tell him what transpired between myself and the man he fancies. I merely nod my assent. Jim pulls me to a stop just aside the double doors leading to the gardens, holding up a hand for the guards to keep back. 

“What is it that’s happened? You were fine this morning. Do not lie to me of all people. You are deplorable at it” he says. “I’ve lost a suitor”, I whisper hurriedly. “The Princess Mary’s business with me is that I am in the running to marry her betrothed”. “No!” Jim gasps. “Yes!” I insist. “Lord May? I should’ve known it when he ran away. The scoundrel!” The mere thought gives my heart an uncomfortable squeeze. “No. No, fool, it is your man! That Lord Mercury!” 

Jim turns to a block of ice before me. “Lord...Mercury? Freddie?” He asks, thunderstruck. He is so distressed that he leans sideways and accidentally opens the door. I have no choice but to steady him and glide out regally. Per custom, I am the last to arrive at solstice celebrations, so no one misses a beat bowing when they see me. Dancers tumble by the light of the great bonfire in the center of the courtyard, torches light the many gaming and fortune telling tables laid out, and there are even richly woven rugs spread out upon the clipped grass. Common folk and noblemen alike mingle excitedly, trading drinks and bawdy jests. It is a true celebration for all people. 

With the exception of Lord Mercury, the suitors are on a raised platform with the minstrels of the court bickering over how to tune a lute. King Deacon sees me watching and beams. His eyes are onyx fire as he takes me in, grin growing wider when he sees I am wearing his earrings. He disentangles himself and hurries over to me. I nod for him to approach. Next to me Jim is grudingly struggling to keep his composure. 

“Gracious Majesty”, he manages. “Please, warm my seat while I ensure the smooth running of the festival”. He scurries away before John can comment. The Sacrian King raises an eyebrow and complies. “If I know how to do one thing, it is clear a dais” he jests. He then takes my hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “You are a vision of beauty” he tells me. He himself is clothed in cloth of gold with a great emerald sapphire and citrine brooch to symbolize the colors of his nation’s pennant. 

“I thank you” I say. Again, I note how utterly...right he appears next to me. He is regal, dignified, polite, and whatever physical part of him does not fill the great cushioned chair he fills in sheer presence. “I did not know you were a musician”. I nod towards their platform. Prince Meddows is conversing with Lord May, shooting stormy blue glances my way every so often. “Oh, I am not. I am more of a swordsman and hunter. I only play tonight to humor them. And you” he adds extra emphasis on the last word. 

“You flatter me”. “If you’d let me, I would exist to make you happy”. His words sent a flash of heat through me. Where on Earth is this coming from? “Do you know what would truly make me happy?” I am laying on the allure. He leans towards me eagerly. “Tell me and you shall have it” he promises. “I would like to hear your pretty song. Please play it for me” I request in Sacrian. His eyes light up at the sound of his mother tongue. 

“I shall” he declares. Then he matches purposefully back towards the others. I sigh quietly to myself. Really, I can handle no more pretty words or confessions of love! I am far beyond emotionally exhausted. How could Lord Mercury have lied to me and then dared to kiss me so? The memory of his hot mouth on mine makes me bite my lip. Why did he have to do such a thing? The actions were entirely too desperate to seem calculating. And worse, why did I not want him to stop? Whatever was that quickening beneath my shift? 

Thankfully Jim cuts into my thoughts just as the music begins. “Are you well now?” I ask. He looks shaken. “Yes. I am sorry. I should not have ran that way. I should be here when you are hurting. Forgive me”. He clasps my hand and gives it squeeze. I smile. “Anytime”. The air they play is sweet and light and it swirls about us like an infectious mist. People swarm to dance at once. “They are quite good” Jim remarks. Even my own heel is tapping in time to the music. “Dance with me” I say suddenly. He looks elated. 

“Really?” “Yes, yes! Come on!” Without waiting for a response I drag him off of the dais and into the merry fray. A shocked murmur runs through the crowd as we melt seamlessly into them, galloping sillily left and then right then trading off partners with a little spin. “It is the Queen!” Distant whispers reach my ears. I make a point to dance with everyone, especially commoners and children, and even participate when they dance gaily around the great bonfire in a great circle, kicking off my gold inlaid shoes. It is the most fun I have ever had at any palace celebration. 

I do not even notice that the tune has changed until I am spun into a pair of hard, slender arms. “Lord May!” I exclaim. So he does know how to be merry after all. We revolve steadily, palm to palm. “I am glad” he remarks as he lifts me according to Taurean custom. My surprise at him knowing this obscure harvest dance does not cancel out my curiosity. “Glad that you can lift me?” I remark archly. 

His answering smile is dazzling in the orange glow of the nearby torches. He reaches out to capture a wisp of my hair. “That too. But I also am glad you did not listen to me and cut off your beautiful locks”. We draw together and then apart again in time with the rest of the dancers. “You call me beautiful?” He gives the jewels of my crown a teasing tap. “You’ll do” he amends. I let out a shocked laugh. “You have the nerve of a thousand men!” 

Brian’s eyes slide over to the five Lords making up the grand council, resplendent at one of the many tables in uncharacteristically black robes and diamond inlaid surcoats. “I?” he asks pointedly. My eyebrows soar skyward. “You know of them?” From the corner of my eye I notice Count Henry nod towards us and whisper to young Benjamin Stafford. His lighter haired counterpart shifts uncomfortably. 

“I do not think that there is a soul here that knows they do not overreach themselves. Even in Monrovia they know it. If I may ask, why d’you let them run amok? In my home we would have them whipped. Possibly beheaded” he informs me. “Brian! How vile!” I protest. “I do not recall telling you that I was not” he reminds me. “I shall have to remember that”. He gives an impish smile that makes my heart stutter in its beats. The music transitions from light and swift to a slow, more sultry tune. Every coupling steps closer to together at once. “Perhaps I should”- I begin,but the hand finds the small of my back at once, fitting me against his willowy frame. “Not a chance” he interrupts. “You are in need of a friend. I am here to be that friend”.

“You did not come here to be my friend” I protest on a turn. Another lad, Sir Charles Todd, sidles up to sprite me from my partner’s arm but Brian gives him a shake of the head and an impassive stare. He slinks off to the side of the courtyard, grumbling his offense. “You shouldn’t have done that. He is offended now”. A few heads are turned in the direction he’s slunk off to and more than a few are turned to gaze upon us. He seems nonchalant. “You cannot please everybody”. I glower at him. “You should be worried about trying to please me” I remind him. He bends down to speak so that only I can hear him. “I came back to court, didn’t I?” I shiver as the softness of his lips brush my ear. “Yes” I answer reluctantly. “I hold you close now, do I not?” Brazenly, he tightens his hold on me. “Will you ever remember yourself?” I hiss. I want to flee from him, but I also wish for him to press me tighter against him still so that I can feel every line of his body against mine. It is a heady, betraying feeling. What has been ignited within me that is so wild that I would desire someone I should not?

“It seems I cannot when it involves you” Brian quips. Thankfully, the herald blows their trumpet to announce the cessation of the dancing and the time for the bestowing of titles. Lord May releases me with a small smile and a bow and I hurry over to my chair of state as if I’m on fire. “What has he done to you?” Jim demands, surprised. “Nothing”I reply from the side of my mouth. Somehow, it sounds like a rebuke. Jim looks curious but has no chance but to let the matter drop for the time being. In the end, I ennoble quite a few men: Benjamin Stafford is made a knight, his brother William a Viscount so that Jim can marry someone with a title as well, Sir Charles - the one whom Brian affronted (I notice the Monrovian Lord suppressing a laugh when his russet haired rival cannot stop shooting him glances) - is elevated to a position within the house of Lords. Anthony Carew, one of my top musicians, is made Master of the Revels.

“Lord Cecil” I call out as soon as Carew receives his dark velvet, ermine trimmed robe. The silver haired man nods imperiously at me. “Stand when I address you” I say sharply. I have had enough of his disrespect, so what I am about to do shall feel fantastic. Chastened, he rises. “Lord Hutton” I turn to Jim and nod for him to step in front of me and he complies, bewildered but willing. Lastly: “And Lord Mercury. You and Lord Cecil come before me”. Freddie is a white as the sun bleached walls of the courtyard as he approaches me. John raises his hand towards him, then lets it drop, unsure what to do. Next to him, Roger bristles like a porcupine and Brian clamps a hand down on his shoulder to keep him seated.

What could they possibly think I intend to do to the man? Horror briefly frissions through me: could they possibly know? Surely he wouldn’t have talked of our afternoon together! My eyes meet his, screaming a silent question, and he shakes his head slightly. The three of them look as if I am about to order them shot dead before the court. “Lord Hutton, you are my most trusted advisor and have served me well. I love you as if you were my own brother”- I put extra emphasis on the word - “And so tonight I elevate your position. You are hereby raised to Keeper of the Privy purse”. Shocked murmurs explode through the crowd. From now on he will oversee the palace ledgers and accounts along with shelling out the needed money to complete things. Fund requests will be submitted to him for him to pass onto me so that we may overlook them. To give him this title is to essentially hand him the second set of keys to the kingdom’s finances.“Your Majesty, that-- that is the land’s highest honor!” Jim stammers. “And it is one that you deserve” I inform him.

Jim’s eyes well with tears as I rise and spread the robes of state over his shoulder. Even Freddie looks as if he will cry tears of joy for him as he is handed the seal of his office. There is a faint rustling near the back of the event: common people are leaving. I fight to control my expression. Lord Cecil turns toward the noise and takes a step toward it. “I have not dismissed you” I remind him.

He pauses. “Nay, your Majesty, you have not” he agrees. Then his expression darkens. Suddenly he unpins the diamond brooch marking him for a great Lord and sweeps off his hat. “You have not, so I must recuse myself from my duties. I cannot in good conscience stand around while you openly tarnish Taured’s reputation” he drawls arrogantly. “I beg your pardon?” My voice is edging close to a shout. 

This time Brian cannot stop Roger from rising to his feet. Freddie’s dark eyes flash swiftly to his blue ones and then away. “You heard. You take up with foreigners when there are plenty of able bodied Taurean men here willing to keep the bloodline pure, yet you have not even asked one of them. Commoners or not, they still bleed Taurean blood!” His cry sends a flutter of excitement through the men he addresses. 

“That is quite enough” says Lord Mercury. “If all of you men were so interested in keeping the bloodline pure why did none of you step up, then?” He calls. “Freddie”- I begin. “Oh, shut up defending that harlot in a false crown, you Lisboan prat!” Someone drunkenly shouts. There is a crash as Roger leaps over the banquet table and subsequently upon our heckler. “Do not call them that! Do not ever open your mouth to speak of them again, you butcher’s son!” He screams, raining blows down upon the unfortunate man’s face. Brian, John, and a phalanx of guards converge on them at once. 

I kick off my shoes and dash into the fray, attempting to claw my way to the center of the brawl so that I can stop it. Hands claw frantically at me, pawing at the roses on my headdress and the jewels sewn onto my mantle. There is a hard jerk as my necklace is torn from my neck, scattering sapphires all over the flagstones. I am nearly torn apart by those attempting to grab me. It is a horrendous, heaving mess that only ends when there is a piercing cry. Mark, the captain of my guard, manages to grasp me firmly about the waist and pull me from the fray. “Madwoman!” He barks. “You could have lost your life!” As he speaks I notice what’s quieted the crowd: the unmistakable scarlet color of blood that is quickly forming a river in their center.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I need my Rami and Queen stans to make some mf noise because WE DID THAT! I would be a special type of fool not to mention his and the casts beautiful wins this past week! My heart is so full for them. I was in the theater and kept ducking out to check twitter to see who would get best actor and when it said Rami Malek I almost went through the fucking ceiling! I had actually resigned myself to him not getting it because y'all know how POC rarely get the credit they deserve but they did our baby right this time. Though I do have to give honorable mention to Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga because they also did #that! Okay! Anyway, I'm sorry this one has taken so long to be posted: I'm working full time and I started school so everything has doubled in terms of chaos. But don't you worry, I'm still here. Comments and greatly appreciated - seriously, please tell me what you think or I feel like I'm shouting into the dark and it gets discouraging pretty quickly. Also pls don't haul me over the coals over any dumb grammatical errors/formatting I'm posting this on the fly right before bed! I'll re-skim through it in the morning. Keep it cute! Enjoy :)

X. 

“I am so sorry, your majesty! I meant to hurt him not! I meant it not!” Sir Richard Rivers nearly wails. I have been spirited away to my privy chamber and locked in for my own protection while the rest of the palace is being cleared and people are being rounded up for questioning. His fair hair glints gold in the firelight as he kneels before me and it is so much like Roger’s that it gives my heart an uneven lurch. What a valiant fool! 

“Why?” My voice comes out as a little girl’s whimper. “Why did you have to run him through? Who was he hurting? Who did he threaten?” The victim, Viscount Montague, was a close friend of my late husband’s. They had spent many a merry night together sporting, gambling, and doing God knows what else. Ennobling him was the only favor George ever asked me. Montague owned many lands but his favorite was a modest manor in the countryside where he lived with his husband, also incidentally called Richard, and two young wards. 

Though he enjoyed the wine flagon a bit too much he was a good landlord, a good advisor to George, and by all accounts a good husband. An even better one once Viscount Richard had convinced him to move to the countryside away from the temptations of courtly life. Adopting the children seemed to mellow him out completely, though he still did come to court and get a bit raucous during certain celebrations. And he had always hated me. 

“Your Grace”- he begins, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “I know. Do not think Prince Meddows does not reap my ire either. Still, he did not kill anyone! Do you have any idea what this will mean?” I fret, trying to sound stern. It must work; the young man quails before me. “The crowd was becoming rowdy at Lord Cecil’s words. When your boy there jumped at him, he became fearful and tried to draw his sword. When the others, myself included, pulled the lads apart he…” he trails off suddenly. 

“You must tell me this at once, Sir Richard. At once!” Still he cannot meet my eyes. “I command it. On pain of death” I order. That used to be a favorite phrase of my father. The difference between he and I, however, is that he almost always meant what he said. Richard’s eyes are tormented as he gazes up at me from the floor. “Forgive me, your majesty, for you were in the fray and he meant to come towards you. He vowed to behead you and sell the spoils. It was he who pulled off your necklace of sapphires to ‘better get to your neck’. He brandished his sword in your direction but the captain of the guard had not reached you yet. Your back was turned and the guard nearest to you was trying to fend off other attackers. He meant to hurt you”-By now he is sobbing.

“Sir Richard, rise up! Please, rise up” I plead. The armed men stationed throughout the room haul him to his feet. “If this is true, I thank you. I want to believe it is true but I still have many testimonies to hear. For you safety, I am relinquishing you of your servitor duties for the time being and relinquishing you into the custody of Marquess Woodfield”. Marquess Woodfield is one of my most trusted spies. They know everything about everyone in the kingdom and will surely keep a close eye on Sir Richard. Richard struggles to escape as they begin to lead him out. “Please, your majesty! I have done nothing wrong! Please, do not lock me away! Please! Please!” his cries echo down the hallways even after the door to my privy chamber has been shut. Jim emerges from his spot behind me and wraps me in a tight embrace. 

I cling to him as if I am drowning. And then it hits me. “William!” I gasp. “Peace, Rose, he is well. I saw him escorted back into the palace with his brothers by our men. I am going to go to him now”. I give him a grateful squeeze. “I am glad you are well. Name anything you want to me and you shall have it” I suddenly promise. Jim looks shocked. “Anything?” he presses. I nod. “I...let me think on it. I shall inform you in the morrow. Shall I send in Prince Meddows?” I cannot bear to look upon him now that I have almost lost him. Nor do I want any more scandal than what will be setting the nation aflame tomorrow morning. I shake my head. “No. I shall speak to him in the morning when things are calmer. I think I will just retire now”. Jim shakes his head at the uncertainty and worry marring my countenance.

“Bring her majesty mulled ale to help her sleep” he instructs to one of my attendants. He then pulls me aside. “Stop. You did the correct thing. The man will be mobbed once his name gets out. Montague has a lot of tenants that are very loyal and he and his husband were friends of Cecil’s” he tells me. “Arrest him”. The command bursts forth from me before I can stop it. “He has incited this entire thing. I will draw up the order tomorrow”. “On what grounds?” Jim sputters. He now looks in dire need of mulled ale himself. “Treason”. The mere mention of the word seems to still the candles flickering in their golden wall sconces.  
“Treason? Have you run mad! He threatened you not! According to the lad, Montague did and he was the one who made a remark about readying your neck for the blade, but he was cut down by one himself. That threat is eradicated. However”- he pauses to take the ale from the server, sip it to ensure it is safe, then pass it to me - “If you want to examine the whole threat you will have to examine Meddow’s involvement”. “Roger”- I begin to defend him but Jim sighs, bringing me up short. “Roger threw the first blows, my dear. He is the one who incited the violence. Cecil provided kindling but it was your Roger who threw the match. He should be arrested too” he points out.

“No”. The word is swift, uncompromising and brutal. “I will not force you to do such a thing, Rose, but you need to know the facts. Cecil is right: people feel resentment that no suitors of yours are of Taurean descent. They resent that you move on from the King that they loved so dearly. They do not understand the affairs of royalty. Now they will resent Montague’s death and the violence beget in your name. You have to do something” he implores. I drink the dreadful ale in one swallow and motion for more. “Please let me know how William fares” I instruct. Jim stiffens at the dismissal but bows low anyway. “Very well. Pleasant dreams, Your Majesty” he says, but it seems as if he means for me to have vicious nightmares instead.

***

“Bloody idiot” Freddie murmurs as he dabs at the cuts on Roger’s face with an ointment from an apothecary in Lisboa. Roger glares at him but winces when it causes the gash above his right eyebrow to sting. “Be still” John chides from beside him on the bed. Brian worriedly turns over one of Roger’s swollen hands to inspect it again. “I fear you may have broken it. It is twice its size still” he frets. “It is no such thing” Roger sniffs. “Squeeze his hand then” Freddie implores. Roger complies, hissing when it sends a spasm of pain down to his wrist. “It’s fine. Give me another cool cloth”. John reaches over and plucks it from a gold serving bowl then wraps it around the Laxarian’s Prince’s hand. “Anything else, Your Majesty?” he asks sarcastically.

“Yes, write me when I am exiled to Laxaria” Roger snorts. “Rose will not exile you” Freddie says. “You did not cause a man to be killed” Roger objects. “Was it your sword who ran that lad through, then? Did we miss something when we pulled you back from the fray?” Brian demands. Roger drops his head on John’s shoulder with a groan. Startled, he gingerly settles his hand atop the Prince’s golden hair to give it a sympathetic pat. Brian and Freddie lay hands on his shoulders. “I feel horrendously guilty”, Roger whispers. “I did not mean for anyone to be hurt. I tried to send a message to the Queen but they said she will not receive it”.

For the first time since the other men have known them he does not sound brazen and self assured. He sounds...frightened. Unsure. Remorseful. Like he will die of shame. Freddie knows the feeling all too well. Perhaps if he confesses his misdeeds, Roger will know he is not alone, he thinks. “Roger...you are not the only one who bears a burden of guilt nor does what occured make you a bad person. You did not know what would happen. You do not vex the Queen. I do” he admits. Three pairs of curious eyes light on him. “I have kept a terrible secret from her and I had no choice but to tell her this morning. I...am betrothed to another. The Princess Mary of Montori” Freddie admits. A fresh wave of shame makes him hang his head. “You...what?” John manages. Roger sits up so fast that it startles them all. “Why come here, then?” he demands. “Why come here and then start trouble that could cost you your head?” Freddie counters. “I do no such thing!” Roger barks back. “Enough, both of you. Having a go at one another will not change anything, nor will lamenting about it into the wee hours of the morning. What’s done is done. We do not have to tear one another apart over it” he tells them. Are all courts outside of Sacria always so quarrelsome? For a split second he missed the hallowed, peaceful halls of his own palace.

Freddie narrows his eyes at Brian, who has been mostly silent throughout the entire ordeal. “And what of you, Mr. Mayflower? Have you nothing to say about all this? You, who disappeared from court and did not show your face after our first meeting? You, who is said to have romped with your betters?” he snaps. Rage propels Brian to his feet. “I beg your pardon?” he nearly bellows. His whereabouts are none of that blasted fornicator’s business! “Not that it is any business of yours but I did not romp with your precious Rose - though it is your precious Mary you should be worrying about. We had a quarrel and I attempted to leave court but she herself came and got me from the countryside” he explodes. The moment the words are out he wants to swallow his cursed tongue.

“So she can follow after you but has no care for me!” The realization makes Roger want to want to hurl the writing desk against the wall through the window. Rose has not sent him so much as a note since this entire ordeal occured and he had been fighting for her honor. Yet it was Lord May whom she pursued, Lord May whom she let hold her close and speak low into her ears. And she had been wearing the earrings that King John had given her! But what about Roger? Roger, who has risked his life and limb to defend her when the rest of them sat there uselessly? Roger, who gifted her an extraordinarily expensive chest of gowns that had taken a sizeable chunk from the Laxarian privy purse? Rose had spent the entire day with Lord Mercury as well, but what did he get? Absolutely nothing for his trouble. Not even a sideways glance. 

Abruptly, he stands too. “Out” he says shortly. “What?” Freddie demands incredulously. “Out. Get out. All of you” Roger commands. Jealousy is making him sick to his stomach. What a fool he is to fawn over a Queen like a maid in love for the first time. What a fool he has been to come here. Why did he even bother? John can see that he is flying apart at the seams. He ushers the others out, ignoring their protests, and gives Roger a brief nod of understanding. 

He collapses backward onto his bed, glaring up at the artfully embroidered burgundy and gold canopy above it. What shall he do? If he leaves it could be a slight if he is not ordered to - and God knows if she’ll send riders after him - but if he stays he could risk being arrested though he committed no crime. That’s when it hits him: time! He needs more time with her so he can explain his side. So that she can begin to experience this peculiar blossoming inside of herself that he is feeling. 

Could it be that he’s falling in love with her? Immediately he rejects the thought. What nonsense! He hardly knows her! And yet...when he sees Rose in his mind’s eye with her flashing dark eyes and caramel colored skin and thinks of the pretty delicate pink it flushes when he teases her. Or how very much he would like to kiss those lips that always part when she listens closely so she can interject appropriately when the stories she is told call for such a thing. 

That settles it: he must have her. He simply must. Tomorrow is his day, damn it, and nobody will take it away. 

***

In the morning, Jim and William send me a message that the page brings in with the servitor: they are well and assure me I will see loyal friends in them for the rest of my days. This makes me feel a better, but only a bit. If Jim truly were not vexed with me he would come break his fast with me. I would not be eating a sullen meal with my ladies who dare to say no more than two words directly to me. 

I am just about to order the servers to clear it all away when there is a commotion in the hall. “I mean no harm! Her Majesty asked to see me first thing this morning!” Bellows a familiar voice. I feel a surge of shock, then a flood of warmth. Roger! There are muffled protests and a scuffle on the other side of the door. Panicked, my ladies back into the nearest corner. “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s just Prince Meddows” I tell them. 

Nan grabs my arm before I can move to open the door. “We do not know whether he means any harm. Let me” she warns. “He does not” I contradict sharply. Everyone has been acting as if he were the one who killed Montague as opposed to Sir Rivers and it has been grating my nerves. “Let GO of me!” I hear Roger shout, followed by a muted thud. I hurry to the door and fling it open to him being grabbed under both arms and dragged away. “Stop!” My voice is deafening in the otherwise silent hall. 

Everyone freezes. “Rose!” Roger cries. Then he glares up at the men holding him. “Do you mind?” He asks acidly, attempting to pull away. They hold him fast, anxiously awaiting an order. “Unhand him! What is the meaning of this?” I demand. They all but fling him in my direction but thankfully I catch him. “Prince Meddows. Fancy seeing you here” I tease in an attempt to diffuse the ire smoldering in his direction. 

He struggles upright in my arms and slides one of his around my waist in an appearance of holding me recklessly close. He is really clinging to me for safety; I have to bite my lip not to laugh aloud. “I am known for my surprises. Break your fast with me” he commands. I raise an eyebrow. “...Please” he tacks on at the end sheepishly. “Very well. But next time, send me a message first!” 

I order everyone out the moment we cross the chamber’s threshold. “Your Majesty, if I may…” one of my men begins. “You may not” I reply sternly. The entire retinue suddenly looks uncomfortable. “It would be a trouble to all of us were something to befall you, Your Majesty. We could not live with ourselves”. Is it just me or do his eyes flash to Roger and away? “You cannot be bloody serious! I would never hurt her! I was not the one who intended to!” He protests. 

“You are aware that, are you not?” He presses. Desperation chokes his tone. “I came to tell you that. That I would never, never”- “Place yourselves outside of the door if you must” I interrupt, throwing an apologetic glance his way. Hurt renders Roger silent. He does not speak until we are seated and the door is shut behind the scarlet clad backs of my men. 

“You shame me” he accuses in a low voice. “I shame you?” I echo incredulously. His hand comes down on the table. Venetian glass goblets, breads, and fruits tremble precariously at the motion. “If you recall, Madam, t’was I who brawled in your honor! I, not May nor Mercury nor Deacon! They all merely sat there like stones in a river and let you be shamed before the court! I am the one who took action!” 

“You will not address a Queen as such, Prince Meddows. You forget yourself!” Being called ‘madam’ has always been a great annoyance of mine. Roger drains a glass goblet and then, with a motion so swift it does not seem to exist, tosses or against the paneled wall. It shatters into a million diamond facets. “What on Earth was that for!?” I roar furiously, erupting to my feet. 

“Have you any idea how much that has cost the privy purse or what it will cost me? No, of course you do not, for you only think of yourself! You will pay for a new one!” His chair scrapes stridently against the wooden floor as he also stands. “I will do no such thing! Why should I when you think nothing of me?” He yells. The accusation stills my anger. “Have you gone mad?” I bite out. 

“I? No, that is you! I protect you with my life and you tell the men ‘stand outside of the door’ as if I am the menace! You wear gifts from the King of Sacria, you dance with the Lord of Monrovia, and you spend the entire day with Lord Mercury yet all I get is superficial applause! What is the meaning of that?” Roger barks. It hits me then: “You are jealous” I remark, shocked. 

He throws up his hands. “Yes, I am jealous! Roger, Prince of Laxaria, is jealous! Would you like to declare it to the entire nation?” In flash he is lifting the window sash and shoving it open. “ROGER IS”- he begins to declare in a shout, but I sprint past him and slam the pane shut. “Prince Meddows, you are making quite the fool of yourself. Stop this at once!” I try to command sternly. But Roger is past reasoning. 

“You will not even call me by my name anymore!” “I shall not when you are behaving like a scorned child! Of course I care for you and of course I believe you! Now sit down and cease this nonsense!” Now it is my turn to shout. My admission seems to take the fight of him. He sinks back into his chair. “You do?” He asks in a small voice. I come around his side of the table so we are face to face and take his hands in mine. 

“Of course I do, Roger, how could I not? I have been sick with worry over you ever since the brawl started. I have not been able to be merry in my heart until I looked upon you and you were whole. You would be in a cell at the moment if I did not care for you. You would not be here unless I desired it. My Lord, it is foolish to make assumptions without first asking. I do not fear you and I know you did not kill Lord Montague. I have placed the gentleman who did under house arrest” I tell him. 

The Laxarian Prince sheepishly rubs his fingers through his golden locks. “I am a fool. All morning I have been receiving sidelong glances and hearing murmurs so I thought...I am a fool” he repeats, shamed. “And a glass throwing tyrant” I agree. He snorts a laugh. “I shall make it up to you” he suddenly declares. He sweeps me into his arms as if we are dancing again. “Here. Right now. Come away with me” he implores. 

“Away with you?” I echo breathlessly. He is maddeningly close, close enough to kiss, and his body is hot against mine through the thin fabric of my nightdress. My heart is beating so furiously it is a miracle he cannot hear it. “I do not think it is a sound idea” I hedge. “Don’t…” Roger breathes. Heaven help me, his breath is warm on my face and against my lips, which part of their own accord at the sensation. I want so badly for him to kiss me I fear I will scream if he does not. 

As if he can smell my desire, he leans in closer to me to gauge my reaction, but I cannot pull away, would not pull away even for all of the world’s gold. “Don’t what?” I manage. In a moment my entire world is going to shift and become infinitely more complicated than it already is. “Tell me no” he says, and then his mouth comes down ardently upon mine.


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been forever. In between the latest chapter and this one, I changed jobs, slipped on some black ice and fractured my ankle, and went through my very first batch of writer's block with this story. It's been brewing in my subconscious since December and it's February so it's only natural inspiration will waver. SO BE NICE TO ME WHEN YOU COMMENT. Lmao. Thanks for being so patient and I hope you enjoy this - I've written 9 different versions and this is the one that I liked the best. It is also 1 in the morning here but I couldn't go another day without posting an update. So yeah, I hope you guys like it. I'm not abandoning this fic at all, I may take a bit of a break from it but it won't be for too long - a week or so, maybe, but these characters live inside my head and will fight me if I don't give them their happy endings, so I will continue. Scout's honor. Also the chapter is a good 16 pages so brace yourselves. Okay, enough of me. Here we go!

It would’ve been more honorable for Prince Meddows to take me in the great royal bed in the center of the room, but we just did not make it that far. Our coupling is violent and swift: he sweeps the food and expensive dishes off of the table with one hand and tears the front of my dressing gown with the other. His hot mouth comes down on my neck and I cry out and clutch his golden locks when his teeth nip my skin. He will mark me, but suddenly I want that more than I have ever wanted anything. I am his rapturously, maddeningly his, and the only thing that can stop this is the horn of judgement itself sounds. Wordlessly, he turns me and shoves me against the table prompting me to throw my hands out steel myself against it. He is hard and urgent behind me, whispering in my ear that he has to have me, has to have me now, and that he is sorry for my honor.

But fie on honor! Death to honor! Death to anything but the fullness and thrust of him inside of me, to the hot gasps sounding in my ears, to the otherworldly sensation that he is giving me. And then when I am sure that it can get no better, he turns me to sweep me off of my feet to carry me to the bed and pleasures me again and again and again until I am sure I will faint from being overwhelmed by it. 

“Again” Roger demands huskily what seems like ages later, sliding his hand up my bare thigh. I stop him in his tracks, placing my hand over his and shaking my head. “Have you not destroyed enough of my things this afternoon?” I demand, gesturing to the broken Venetian glasses and plates carelessly scattered amongst the bread and fruit that I was supposed to break my fast on. Candles have rolled to a standstill near the foot of the bed and my nightdress, torn down the front and completely useless, is tossed haphazardly into the window embrasure seat. 

Roger’s own clothes are dangling from the foot of the bed we are in and pooling on the clothes chest I have there. He laughs and brings his hand up to caress my face. “Do not act as if you did not enjoy it” he says. My mind spins out to the last ecstasy choked moments we spent together. George has never ever made me feel this way - no one had. I now understand what it is that my ladies are always gossiping and twittering about when they think I am out of earshot. 

“You are thinking about it now”, Roger teases, breaking into my hedonistic memories. “I am thinking of a lot of things” I lie quickly. Too quickly. Roger’s expression suddenly becomes dreamy - eyes half closed, lips parted, and he clutches his chest as he swoons back dramatically against the pillows. “Oh, Roger!” He cries in a high pitched voice to mock me. “You are the best, the best, the very best!” 

I cannot help but laugh. “I said no such thing, you dog! I shall have to see you and these guards fired - no one came to my aid at the sound of our scuffling” I say with a frown. 

Roger gives an incredulous snort. “You’d have died of mortification were they to come in and catch you bent over the table like a common strumpet” he contradicts. “Oh? And what common thing would you be in that situation?” I demand icily. “I would be the luckiest of all men. I am the luckiest of all men to share a bed with you” he declares. Like before, I make no move to reject his kiss. Why should I not enjoy a bit of pleasure amongst this madness for a little while longer? 

He shifts us so that he is atop me once more. “Spend the day with me” he implores, kissing down my neck to my shoulders. “Please”. His lips trail across my collarbone now, down my chest. “I don’t think it would be…” I trail off to swallow convulsively as his hand creeps betwixt my thighs once more. “Do go on” The Laxarian Prince implores impishly. “Appropriate” I gasp, reflexively grasping his golden locks. 

“I do believe we threw propriety from the rooftop the moment our lips met” he tells me. When a moan slips between my lips his grin widens. “No. No, I will not make more trouble for you, Prince Meddows. You must go” I manage. Roger becomes a statue. “No”, he snarls. The sound is so vicious that, were it possible, I would have taken a step back from him. “Roger. Call me Roger. I am your Roger and you are my Rose. Do not demean me nor what we shared”. 

Normally his tone would make me bristle with anger but there is something in his eyes I have never seen before: desolation and a raw need for something I cannot place at first. But then it dawns on me: he is well liked, loved even, but he does not feel accepted. I have felt that way all my life. My heart throbs at his wretched expression. 

I learn upwards and place a kiss upon his lips to placate him. “My Roger” I promise softly. He softens at once. “I understand, you know” The words escape me before I can stop them. Roger is perplexed. “What is is like to not feel accepted, I mean. This throne is my birthright but people have always favored my late husband more because he was older. And a man” I cannot help but scowl at the end. He reaches down to smooth the unhappy grooves between my eyebrows before planting a kiss there. “It is hard for you? All of this?” He gestured to the ruined bedroom and the palace beyond. “It certainly is not a picnic” I answer dryly. “Is that why that bastard said those things - that you are a whore with a false crown? Because they prefer your husband?” he wants to know.

My eyes close against the severity of what I must reveal. Certainly it would be smarter to keep it to oneself but suddenly I can longer bear it. “George was not...the most faithful king. He had numerous affairs with my ladies and servant and I had no choice but to turn a blind eye to it. If I complained, we would quarrel quite severely. Sometimes he would strike me”. I feel Roger tense. “I struck him back, if it makes you feel any better, though it certainly does not make it right. He insisted upon taking his pleasure from others because he was the King and he could do as he wished. He insisted that I gave no pleasure and was not hot for him because…” I somehow cannot bear to say it. The Prince of Laxaria is the picture of concern. “Because?” he prompts gently, sweeping my hair from my face.

“I am...not right. My courses come once in the summer and again in the winter. That is hardly enough to beget the heir that Taured needs”. Shame makes me hide my face from him. “Ah” he says. Visions of the fair haired children he expects at some point, as all men do, are probably dancing through his head. I cannot bear it.

He has taken me and now he shall take the first barge down the river back to Laxaria. He lifts the silk sheet from my face with a sigh. “I did not mean that as a bad thing. It is a true butcher’s son who uses that as an excuse to shame his Queen. My mother has the same troubles and she still beget my sisters and I. You are not broken, my Rose, just different. Laxaria has many physicians that can”- he breaks off at my shocked look an flushes a delicate pink. 

“That is...if things ever...come to that…” he stammers. “Do not be embarrassed. It is sweet that you think of me. George never really did in a lot of things, though we put on a united front. One of my ladies, Lady Jane Bankurt, ended up in pup while she was married to another, no less. Everyone had known her marriage with her husband had been put aside while the King favored her. Who else could she have lain with if not George?” Outrage still colors my tone.

“So I commanded him to send her away because she could no longer hide her broadening stomacher. At first he refused, but then I threatened him with separation. I even drafted a bill making adultery punishable by death. I was quite beside myself. And so he sent her away, but only to avoid the block though such a bill would never pass. I hear that she had a boy. A son that is supposedly half of George. A son with a claim to the throne. I have never laid eyes upon the child myself but some say he is out there with an army of fanatics pooling behind him to overthrow me. To make way for the true King”. “God’s blood…” Roger breathes, shocked. We are silent for a few moments. “We must marry at once” he eventually says. Now it is my turn to be shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me, Rose. Pick me. Choose me. I have already shown that I am more than capable of protecting you - who else but I sprang to your defense? Who else fought and was willing to die if needed?” he demands, sapphire eyes blazing. Though his actions caused a plethora of problems for me, I do have to admit he is right in one sense. Then my mind spirals out to poor Richard, screaming as he was sent away under cover of darkness. To Jim’s suggestion that I have Roger arrested too. I am the worst type of hypocrite, laying here in his arms as if we are lovers. Shame nearly drowns me. “Roger, someone did die last night. You defended me and I thank you for it, but there is always a cost that must be paid. Lord Montague paid for it with his life, though it was not your sword that ran him through. If this will happen every time you defend me then I would rather you not” I tell him.

Without warning, he releases me and slides from the bed to dress. “Where are you going?” I want to know. “I’ll not stay here and be insulted. I did what I did for you and I’ll not be shamed for it. So if you would like to send me away, by all means, give the order now. Or perhaps you’ll wait for another rage and draw up another bills declaring my actions treason?” he sneers. I jerk back as if he has struck me. How dare he throw back at me what I have told him in confidence? “Very well then, my Lord, if that is how you want it then you are hereby under house arrest and not allowed to leave palace grounds without my expression permission on pain of death” I snap before I can stop myself. 

Roger pauses in the middle of putting on his shirt at my words. “What?” “You heard” my voice is like ice. It may seem cruel, but I am doing it for his own protection. People have seen blood spilled in my name and he was the person who exploded out of his seat to cause the fray; they will want the blood of whomever they think is responsible. I try to explain this to him, but he is beyond reason, upending the mahogany table he has made love to me on in the process of storming out of my chambers. And I know then I have lost one of the dearest things to me but I console myself with the fact that, this time, it is on my own terms. 

*** 

As far as His Majesty King John was concerned, Queen Rose was behaving without reproach. Upon rising, she had giving three orders: the court was to go into mourning in honor on Montague, nobody was to leave the palace ground until they were notified when it was safe on grounds of imprisonment, and there would be a great day of sporting in honor of the man who had been killed, whom’s named he learned was Montague.

In Taured, the color of mourning is white and he feels quite odd - almost disrespectful, in his ivory satin doublet and matching cap. Why on Earth would the national color of mourning be white, for Goodness sake? The court swirling around him looked like a cluster of maids on their wedding day. Al except for Freddie and Roger, of course. Freddie is resplendent in a hunter green ensemble and a fox fur cape despite the breeze only being slight; Roger looks as if he has invented the color red and also has a satin cape thrown over his shoulders.

Brian, sitting to his left and engrossed in conversation with Jim about some type of flower called a blue moon rose and sheathed in black, is a bit better. Black is the color of mourning in Monrovia and Sacria, so at the very least he is showing his respect. By the Gods, John feels like an idiot. He glares out at the track, eagerly awaiting the joust to begin. William, Jim’s betrothed, catches his glower at the dirt path and chuckles. 

“So eager for more carnage, are you, Your Majesty?” he asks. “That will depend on whether or not you are going to be riding, lad” John fires back. “Pay His Majesty the King of Impatience no mind, dear,” slurs Freddie, already slightly drunk on the ale attendants are passing around in the stands. “He just wishes that he could ride”. John shoots a brief, pointed glance in Jim’s direction. “It seems as if I am not the only one” he comments. That shuts the Lisboan Lord up. He turns his back with an affronted sniff and attempts to word his way into Jim and Brian’s conversations with an anecdote about gladiolas. Such silly flowers. Such a silly thing, to have a match that could cause death in someone who has died’s honor. 

“I’ve had a shit day and about all I can stand of women. I wish this match would begin” Roger comments suddenly in Sacrian. John whirls to face him in shock. “You speak Sacrian?” he demands. “Just because I am blond doesn’t mean my head is full of air. Of course I do, though I rarely have a case unless it is to bed a”- “Please spare me the details. I see you have been busy this morning” John interrupts, gesturing to the love bite on the neck of the Laxarian prince that is steadily fading into a bruise. He flushes as red as his doublet. “I know not of what you speak”. “It is none of my concern. Pray that the Queen does not get wind of it. She has been through quite a lot”. Roger is suddenly very interested in the cuff of his sleeve. Before he can demand that his counterpart explain himself, a page in Taurean livery gives him a tap on the shoulder. 

Again, he turns, this time with a slightly affronted expression. No one is permitted to touch the body of a sovereign, especially a foreign diplomat. Had the boy gone mad? “Queen Rose is requesting your presence in the Queen’s box” he says. It takes everything he has to control his eyebrows from shooting skyward. “Of course” he manages, rising to his feet. When men from his retinue move to rise, he waves them back down. “Please, enjoy the show. I shall return” he assures them.

The walk to Rose’s viewing box seems endless. The boy leads him to the empty velvet upholstered chair next to the Queen. She is looks so beautiful in her white satin gown and matching ropes of pearls that it nearly brings him to his knees. A few petals from her headdress flutter to the wooden floor when she rises to curtsey to him. “Gracious Majesty” she greets, as if she is not the Queen herself. As if she is not the picture of beauty and her gown glowing against her skin is not as radiant as the sun. She owns his every thought, every beat of his heart, and every breath in his lungs. She extends a white gloved hand for him to kiss and he obliged with pleasure before sitting in the velvet upholstered chair next to her.

They have perfect shade up high here beneath the golden canopy of state and are slightly higher than the rest of the crowd - so much so that they would not be able to hear their conversation. It is almost like having total privacy. Emboldened by this, he reaches over to take one of her gloved hands in his. “I was so worried for you”, he confesses, “I feel like such a fool for not demanding to see you sooner”. Something he says triggers a flicker of something he is not sure he is supposed to see in her dark eyes, but he lets it lay for now. Nothing is going to spoil his time with her. “Please do not. I am alright. Shaken, but alright. I thought that everything was going so wonderfully…” she trails off, oddly looking as she is going to succumb to tears. He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. She sighs and laces her fingers through his. “Thank you”. “For?” “For not questioning me about everything. For just...letting me be”. He is touched. “A good King knows which issues he must press and those which he must avoid” says John judiciously.

A blast of trumpets from below signals the start of the match and the riders are off. This time she gives no favors as a Queen normally would. On the outside, she is radiant, but inside, she is wholly exhausted. “How bad is it?” The Sacrian King wants to know. Rose grimaces. “The drafting a bill has been discussed” - she has to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the thundering hoofbeats of the horses - “If it comes to a rebellion”. “Who is staking a claim now? A long lost relative? A illegitimate son? Bastards have no right to the throne” he tells her. Rose looks as if she will fall over just as there’s a resounding metallic clang and the riders collide. A cheer rises from the stands and they try their best to look interested. The word “point” echoes hollowly up towards them.

“Drafting such a thing will only make you look as if you doubt yourself” he explains. “I do not” she assures him at once. “Then do not trouble yourself with such trivial matters. Your people adore you - you should have seen them smiling at your dancing. I would never do such a thing at my own court without a fell well placed guards”. She is shocked. “But you are well loved in Sacria as was your father!” “Too much familiarity breeds contempt, my sweet. You must be very careful. For example: the funeral?” he probes. “Private”. Her voice is choked with shame. John shakes his head.

“It must be a funeral of state. Keep the court in mourning. Go and weep and say a few words. Pay his husband a pension to care for their children” he advises. “Richard”- “Is grieving and any little thing will help. You mean well and you must appear as so. The man who…?” Somehow he cannot bring himself to say the word. Unwittingly, both sets of eyes flash down to Roger, who is holding a court of his own with Freddie and a scrum of giggling white clad ladies. Even Brian has an arm casually looped about one of their shoulders and a tankard of ale in one hand.

Rose’s eyes narrow. “I do believe I am up here, madam” escapes him before he can stop himself. She turns back to him at once with an apologetic smile. “I envy how carefree they are” she explains. “My apologies. Do go on”. An idea strike him. “Not here” he says suddenly. Rose is the picture of confusion. “I beg your pardon?” He has to wait for the roar of the crowd to die down before he can speak again. He rises to his feet and extends a hand. 

“You trust me, do you not?” Again the words are more intense than he intends them to come out. She follows at once and anchors herself to him once more. “I do” she says at once. “Then come with me. We will take care of everything together. I shall not lead your side until you order me away” he says, and he means more than he has ever meant anything in his life apart from his coronation vows.

***  
King Deacon’s adventurous streak surprises me. Normally he is reserved and quiet, but he is a completely different man as he leads me away from the joust with his hand warm in mine. He whispers orders to a few men in blue and gold - the national color - uniforms and they scurry away as he tows me towards the palace’s water stairs. He knows without saying that I must see Richard the widower and Richard who is now unfortunately a prisoner. After murmuring directions to the boatman I tell him everything - how I had to place Rivers under arrest, how he cried, and how wretched it made me feel to see him carted off like a criminal. 

I omit the details of my hedonistic morning with the Laxarian Prince and skip ahead to the emergency council meeting I had, discuss palace finances and compare the expense that certain things cost the privy purse. He laughs louder than I have ever heard when I complain about the price of Sacrian wine and counters with the price of Taurean flowers and gold. “...And what you do for sport! It is nothing compared to Sacria! 

We throw axes at targets for child’s play!” he scoffs. The entire time we sail down the river, he does not let go of my hand, and I want to thank him for it. He knows it not, but he is my safe harbor. He says he will help me through everything and I have no doubt that he will. Out front of the Marquess’ manor, however, I have him pause outside of the door.

“Marquess Woodville is neither man nor woman” I warn him. His sandy colored brows shoot skyward. I do not bother to hide my amusement. “You’ll see”. We are let in, still hand in hand, by one of the Marquesses guards and enter into a small great room. 

There is an elaborately carved desk in one corner, the windows are bracketed by lush velvet hanging, and a myriad of spices are hanging from the walls in bunches to perfume the room. Ashes are pooled in the fireplace and remnants of a roasted chicken are lingering in the air. of A small part of me cannot wait until John lays eyes on them. 

I am sure he has never seen anything like them in Sacria. Sure enough, when the Marquess comes bounding down the stairs they are dressed in trousers and a loose fitting shirt. “Your Majesty! What a surprise! I’d have gotten refreshments had I knew you were coming!” They exclaim. John’s are now the size of serving plates. Marquess Woodville looks as if they are male at first glance, but upon closer inspection one can see their curves, the softness of their face, and the jewelry they wear. John’s lips part to speak but no sound escapes. 

Their blue eyes dance with amusement. “Ah, the Sacrian King. John, is it? It is a pleasure to meet you” they tell him, clasping his free hand in a hearty shake. To me, they say: “And you almost gave me a heart attack appearing on my doorstep dressed as a bride would be, my Queen. To what do I owe the honor?” They ask, if they don’t know. They lead us to a sitting room and drop their voice to a whisper. “He does not fare well. He goes through cycles - pacing like a caged lion, roaring like one, and then mewling pathetically like a kitten to be let out” They inform us. “Has he said anything?” I want to know at the same time John demands   
“Have you heard anything?” Marquess Woodville laughs. “Dear God, you are even finishing one another’s sentences. You make quite the pretty couple. D’you wish to know the truth or the version that will make you happy?”

I reflexively tighten my hand around John’s and nod for the truth. He wraps an arm around me as if to brace me for it. “Cecil is unhappy. He has been going from tavern to tavern, slurring about what happened and how you shunned him though he was a great friend of George’s” They say. I heave a sigh. King Deacon misinterprets this as distress and hugs me a bit closer. “It is the whim of a fool to speak on things he does not know without ceasing” he murmurs. “You should know that Montague was well loved by his tenants. 

They were so riled up in the early hours that were it not for work they’d have probably taken up arms, but it has fizzled now. People are fickle. However, they are not to happy that the blond remains at your side”. I cannot help but stiffen at the mention of Roger. Roger, who is probably fuming about my absence right now, whose name escaped my lips as naturally as breathing, who’s hands felt as if they were made for me--

“I will not send him back”. My rebuke is so fierce that Woodville shrinks back a bit. “I did not suggest that you should, but you may want to keep him close to the palace. People want to know if you are paying Richard a pension to care for his children and whether or not the funeral will be grand. They assume both are owed to them”. Shame makes me bow my head. Those poor children are now without fathers because of me. 

This morrow when I was being flung about my chambers in the clutches of passion they were waking up to a dreadfully emptier house with heavy hearts. “I must see him” I say. “Montague’s husband will not see you. He most likely will not come to the funeral if you are there”. I try not to flinch at the open rebuke.

“Sir Rivers, then”, I demand. “I must see Sir Rivers and I must do so alone”. “Are you sure”-? John begins. “I am sure” I assure both of them. “Take me to him”.

***

Princess Mary of Montori’s first impression of the shadowy country of Taured on the horizon is that she is not very impressed. How could such a small insignificant country known for its flowers of all things be the source of so much conflict. The neighboring nations are all abuzz with rumors and predictions and falsehoods, but she cares for none of that.

There is only one thing she is daring to sail across the sea and risk capture by pirates for: Freddie. Ah, Freddie, love of her life, her number one confidant and childhood friend. They had been betrothed since the day they were born to secure the relationship between Montori and Lisboa and had spent every waking moment they could together when the reigning monarchs allowed it.

All her life she looked forward to turning the tender age that she now is so that she could finally order preparations for the wedding dress she had dreamed of as girl and put together dances and masques and plan the customary three day wedding banquet. They were to honeymoon in sunny Lisboa, a place she could never get enough of, in a grand palace her parents had been slated to build in a gesture of goodwill. Everything had been going without a hitch. She’d worn his diamond proudly, not caring that Duchess would be her title as opposed to Queen for years yet, not caring that when Freddie smiled at her it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

When they made love - yes, she had been fool enough to give him her maidenhead - it seemed as if he could hardly look at her. The thought of her folly - ruining herself for any other potential suitors - makes her want to fling herself into the churning waves below. Every time she touched him lately he seemed to learn away slightly. As if he were repelled by something. As if he were repelled by her. And then the rumors came: the young Lord’s court was merry. A bit too merry, so much so that he had been sent from the court to run country estates to stop the trouble but it had not stopped at all. She paid numerous servants of his pensions, so she knew. Knew about the dukes and the stable boys and the attendants. About the pages - all male - who wrote lovesick poetry from him and were subsequently banished from court. A few were even threatened with hanging and excommunication. When she’d asked about it he’d simply told her “No, darling, don’t be ridiculous. I love you”. Loved her so much that he’d boarded a barge under cover of darkness to abandon her. He hadn’t even done it like a man!

All she knows is that she is going to get an explanation and then all will be will and they will return back to Montori and get away from that vile, drama ridden country before hell inevitably broke loose. Her Father had offered to send a army in after Lord Mercury, but she had stopped him. “Give me time to reason with him” Mary had tearfully pleaded, knowing that Freddie was a fool and would do anything to fight the Montorian army off. 

So he had grudgingly agreed: one week from the time she sent a letter announcing her arrival on Taurean shores. If she was not successful in her mission, both her and his parents would be sending an army in her wake. Nobody shamed Montori and got away with it.


End file.
